


Local Horny Idiot Can't Look His Friend In the Eye

by WritingGay



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Tension, Feminization, M/M, Masturbation, Porn, Slow Burn, Trans Jesse McCree, arguably its definitely not fast but this pork isnt going to fall apart, both genji and d.va are little shits, but its one sided tension, hanzo and angela are not on good terms so thats tense, hanzo is a freaque
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-02-13 01:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21485995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingGay/pseuds/WritingGay
Summary: McCree watches porn, he'll admit to that. Won't tell you what it is, but he'll admit to it.Hanzo does porn. Has been doing porn for a while now. Generally he's careful about not showing anything about himself, but every human gets a mistake every now and then. It's such a little thing, such a nothing detail that wouldn't identify him to anyone whose not immediately close to him.Unfortunately, McCree is immediately close to him. And an idiot. Who can't look him in the eyes anymore, but desperately doesn't want to ruin their relationship.He can do this. He can not remember what he saw, not imagine now that he has the exact images burned into his mind, not go back and visit the site and oops-- end up on Hanzo's profile again. He's got this pat. At least, he tells himself that.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 79
Kudos: 343





	1. Hey Asshole, Use Your 20/20 Eyes for Once.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic? so tear me to shreds please. Put me through the ringer. (genuinely not sarcasm! I promise on that!)  
Also, not beta'd.  
also also feed me sweet validation.  
bonus note lmk if anything needs to be added to tags, i have no idea what im doing.

For all the illegal and immoral things Jesse McCree has done, let it be known that ever since he’s been able to he’s paid for his porn. It may not be the highest brow media, but that suits him just fine. He's curated an impressively impactful collection over the years that he's proud of-- not that he would share it, he isn't  _ that _ blasé yet.

But it's stale. 

There's a mission coming up where there's virtually no room for anything to go bad; those are the worst ones as you can never anticipate-- let alone prepare for-- how it will go wrong (because it  _ always _ goes wrong) and he's tense. He could really use a good release right now, but nothing he has is working. After months and years of circulating through the same videos, they just don't hit as hard. They still hit certainly– don't get him wrong– it's just missing the punch to knock him out. So he stays up into the night, forgoing his sleep to bolster his gallery. God knows he's been up longer for worse.

It's two in the morning and he's chased a series of threads to an absolutely antique website. Jarring, inaccessible colors paint the background, the corners are overly rounded on all the text boxes, a san serif font fills the space rather than a reasonable monospaced one, and none of the images have alt text on them; it's something Reinhardt’s  _ mother _ would be familiar with-- completely 2010’s. Despite being in the veritable internet boonies, the videos seem to be recent. The gimmick is weird enough for Jesse to pay for full access then and there, without seeing if it actually has anything of interest.

He regrets the purchase, scrolling through the main page. The videos aren't titled anything more than three letters and a number, presumably the number of videos a person has, and the letters have no rhyme or reason even to his blackwatch trained mind, maybe he doesn't have all the pieces to it, but he can't imagine there's a deeper meaning. The saving grace is they're extensively tagged, so he’ll at least be able to find what he vaguely wants– if they accurately and consistently tagged their videos. The site itself is a hosting site, apparently offering a good profit split, but leaving organization inconsistent. He’ll just have to scrub through the videos to get a sense of it, only a time loss in terms of efficacy. Besides dawn tends to stretch forever when you don't sleep. No big loss.

The ancient site loses more good boy points when it directs feminization to sissy, leaving a bitter taste in Mccree’s mouth.  _ That may just be tag consistency, _ Jesse loosely justifies, considering how old the site might be. Sure, the site  _ could _ just be using an old aesthetic, yet that doesn't explain the lack of accessibility options; the safer bet is to say the site is just ancient. There's also the fact that not everyone is squicked by the term, but that's a notion to ignore. He's come a long way to care about his  _ own _ feelings, he's not going to let that die on this matter. 

Par for the course, videos open in tab after tab as Jesse peruses, nothing grabbing him in a way he hasn't already gotten used to. That's what he gets for being unreasonably picky, for choosing this, of all topics, to have high standards. Yes it's an art, but so is baking and he's had no trouble brushing off a floor cookie and jamming it in his mouth. Chocolate usually does a good job of overpowering any lingering dirt, yet apparently new, wildly attractive men can't inspire lust.

He’s almost completely ready to write the purchase as just a loss when dark eyes grab him. The man is breathtaking, a sturdier build than most of the other videos-- on site and off-- with an air of danger to him, despite (or perhaps enhanced,) by the strappy number he could barely see on his shoulders. More obviously, it radiates from his bridge piercing and the barest undercut peeking under his long black hair--- the earrings Jesse has seen often enough to not be intriguing. The look clashes beautifully against the delicate eye makeup, too intricate for Jesse to actually know what it is called outside of eyeshadow. Still, the gaze itself is intense, stoking a fire in Jesse he thought flickered out. It's something he can't name. 

Trained, restrained, and cold glints off his eyes, yet when he settles back from checking the camera and flicks his sultry gaze to it, that glaze completely washes away. This is an escape for him, and Mccree feels like he's in on a secret-- after all there's few people who’d recognize a look like that, and they're all broken as hell. Other people who had too many regrets, too much sorrow, who don't let themselves show emotion. Why that gets Mccree heated he doesn't know; he's certainly not going to a therapist about it.

The video self is  _ meh, _ he could take it or leave it. Simply showing the man mouthing an impressively realistic toy, mounted so the downward angle of the camera lets him pretend it's real--- that it's him. The man is completely unable to actually suck it with the cloth covering the bottom of his face, still his breath hitches at seeing him mouth through the material. There's no doubt the artist knows this is a tease of a performance. Tease of something he can't give his audience, especially given how short the video is. The sight is promising to both his dick and his wallet, though. This site might be holding the man of his dreams, well, wet dreams specifically-- but he's sure the man is pleasant, if not shy and withdrawn, and maybe prone to blushing, in his day to day. He's certainly never going to actually get to know him. Speculation won't hurt.

_Hattori_ _Sakamu_, the profile calls him--- though with how he covers his face McCree is certain that's not his real name. Certainly not something to fault him on. There's the unfortunate truth that sex workers are still largely marginalized. Plus, if he had a problem with aliases he might as well be in the grave. He can picture it now: _here lies Jesse McCree, bastard couldn't shoot his way through everything, 2039-2057_. 

Hattori is older-- or at least as far as he can tell. Age has apparently been kind to him, wrinkles vaguely flashing when his eyes give his smile away, and Jesse could kiss him just for that fact; he's felt a bit gross only being able to find men that are almost half his age at this point. And Hattori is active, his latest video only two weeks ago  _ and _ he has four years of backlog for Jesse to sink his teeth into. Hattori is a hard worker apparently, the uploads seem to have a schedule, a consistency-- a few here and there don’t follow the pattern, but again, Hattori is human.

Jesse takes a moment to sit against the headboard, arguably the least comfortable position someone could sustain on a bed, to try to curb the desire to jerk off before he could go through at least half of his videos. This is a venture into the slow, warm roll of sustained arousal. And professional curation, of course. 

_ Oh _ , and the site is formatted to just jump down Hattori’s timeline with a swipe, perfect for Jesse and his frantic video assessing. The site is nice to it creators, keeping customers on one artist for awhile, that's gotta be worth a couple good boy points.

The latest video is the not-quite-what-he's-looking-for one Jesse originally clicked on. The next is better but it completely cuts the appeal of Hattori; a back view of him riding a toy framed from the shoulders down. He has, Jesse notices two videos later, a habit of wearing one long-- possibly full-- sleeve glove and one short one. Jesse outright smiles at that, warmed by the man having an odd quirk. In its own charming way, it's downright adorable.

With growing frustration he notes that videos tend to omit Hattori’s front from the ribs up-- if they're even shot from the front. His work unfortunately favors framing from behind, a beautifully sculpted, incredibly soft looking behind, but no sultry looks. Don't get him wrong, he appreciates Hattori’s lithe body-- something that had to be a product of an intense hobby rather than the doings of a gym rat.  Jesse holds onto the fact that first video shows Hattori makes exceptions. Feeds his hopes, even if they're sparse. He just wants to see Hattori’s eyes melt whatever is haunting him, dissolving into ecstasy. Simple wishes. Still, he can respect a man being paranoid over showing his face. Again, he has no room to judge, if he even wanted to.

He goes through the next couple of similar videos, quickly swiping through. He’ll absolutely need to go back and watch them more in depth to watch Hattori in full action, but for now he's just craving another look into those captivating eyes. 

God has not been there for Jesse for most of his life, yet his prayer is answered in a neat little bow when a site notification pops up that Hattori has just uploaded a new video.  _ A full body video. _ Jesse could groan if he wasn't embarrassed at the concept-- he certainly didn't have to worry about anyone hearing him given the soundproofing of the Watchpoint rooms, he simply got beet red at being so excited so easily. To give him credit, Hattori hit all of his buttons in a way he never knew they could be pressed, and he is a man who is quick to attach himself to others once they past his walls; watching porn doesn't require any walls in the first place. Jesse has had other favorites over the years. It's innocent to imagine yourself with a man you'll never meet, Jesse figures.

Hattori is laid out on a luxurious bed, and Jesse instinctively scans the room to find that Hattori hangs drapes behind him to block out the rest of the room. Thorough. But who cares about the room. Jesse snaps his eyes back, a moment off his body a moment too long. Hattori lays on his side, twisting so both his sculpted ass and demure gaze face the camera. Or mostly faces the camera, a human can only twist so far. It can't be comfortable to crane your head for too long, so Jesse really can’t fault him for not looking into the camera as often as he’d like. There'll be other videos. _Hopefully._

He can't see the far side of Hattori’s chest very well, but given the short glove on the nearest hand the long one is certainly on the other. His eyes focuses on the unconventional gloves when Hattori reaches down to play with his hole. Strangely enough, his gloves are missing the ring and pinky finger. A strange aesthetic, considering the reach looks awkward without using his first two fingers, but it's a commitment to style McCree resonates with. The stretch is just for show, Jesse realizes. Hattori is toying with his audience. At least, Jesse  _ feels  _ toyed with, like Hattori is alluding to what he was doing just before he turned the camera on, like he's establishing that they're there on  _ his _ terms-- the smug mirth in his eyes only strengthens that theory. Jesse feels as if Hattori is challenging him to question him; he knows could take it all away. In his inherent power he dares someone to defy him, to judge him, his outfit, his mask, his odd gloves. 

_ Mitsugake _ , Mccree’s brain helpfully supplies the useless information, like that's what he needs to take in watching Hattori’s hands. The thought distracts him momentarily, remembering when he and Hanzo had a heated debate about their respective combat uniforms, and Hanzo insisted on telling him every name of the traditional gear. Genji took every opportunity to quiz him whenever the three were speaking, riling up the both of them. Not that he's condoning fratricide, but it's easy to see where Hanzo’s coming from-- Genji seems to just push buttons to push buttons and studying under Zenyatta-- who says he himself ‘Executes the same process’-- has only helped him find said buttons. 

Absolutely worth the look on their faces when he finally got it all right. God, it felt good to take that chip from Genji. Plus that was one of the first times he caught Hanzo smiling, little more than a simple flick of his mouth.  _ Enough about Hanzo _ . He's gone this long without thinking of him like that (for the most part, you can't blame a man for fleeting thoughts), and Hattori barely shares similar features-- well, eyes and hair, given that the rest is covered. For the latter, Hanzo would never let his hair down-- Hana has tried a number of schemes to see it; he says he used to have his hair down, and he's past that now. Nobody has been able to decipher what that _ actually  _ means _ .  _ For the former, dark eyed Asian people aren't exactly  _ rare _ . If he squinted  _ maybe _ he could replace Hattori, but that would only cause trouble. Their piercings are the same, but a straight barbell in the bridge isn't a groundbreaking idea. Plus, he could never imagine Hanzo in anything other than a smirk as he railed someone (Jesse desperately pleads with himself to not put him in the fantasy, but he's never been the type to listen.) Jesse is just rattling the marble in his brain and it's not his fault that he has so many Hanzo pits for it to fall in; he's just bound to think of him whenever he thinks long enough.

The glove seems to get his rocks off though, and Jesse isn't going to fault him for that. And it confirmed not practical, given how quickly he stops to pull out his toy. Not the realistic one he saw in the previous video, but something definitely high tech. Definitely out of Jesse’s budget, but it wasn't hard to see Hattori making a lot of money through the site. He’s painfully playfully coy, taking a moment to rub his stockings together and ruck up his blouse. He knows he looks good. He has to know he looks irresistible; Jesse can't shake the sense that Hattori meticulously plans out his outfits. 

He slides down the headboard, slumping and opening his legs as if that'll give his erection enough room to go unnoticeable. He drinks in Hattori again, the simple combination of near navy stockings dragging up to a leather garter-- which itself ends in a complex wrap of thin decorative leather straps around his hips to push an hourglass figure-- drives Jesse out of his mind. And the shirt! Jesse can't resist slipping off his sleep pants, but he manages to not actually touch himself. Surprisingly, having his dick out doesn't help his resolve to not jerk off before he gets halfway through the videos. Therefore, he doesn't just mark the video and move to the rest like someone with a working brain would. Who could've guessed? A really mind maze that one. 

The shirt itself is a simple loose blouse rucked up barely over his nipples, just high enough to show the nub, and Jesse would kill to get his hands on that chest. An awe inspiring pair of muscular pecs that beg forth fantasies of dragging his cock between them. When he spots a simple bar piercing in his nipple he can't help pressing his legs together to feel how slick he is under his prosthetic. That's a sensation he hasn't felt in a  _ long _ time. He hasn't even touched himself and Hattori has him this keyed up with the simplest of actions. Jesse takes his eyes off his screen to tilt his head back and chuckle at the ceiling, he's fucked, absolutely infatuated with Hattori, and it's exactly what he wanted. _Might have to start going to church to thank the lord for his bounty._

A restrained gasp snaps his attention back to the video; Hattori has turned the toy on, a pulsating motion going on. He assumes it from the wave that bulges through it ever so offset by Hattori’s own thrusting. No moans actually escape Hattori, just half-breathed gasps and choked vocalizations. If he's that discrete he could be just denying himself the room to moan, so Jesse lets his imagination run off. His hand catches up to his mind and he doesn't let his dick go untouched, pinching the head to release a reasonable glob of lube-- proper lube, and allowing himself slow strokes down his entire length.  _ Take that cis guys, with your unevolved dick _ . The thrill of having an all around better dick is cut by Hattori gasping louder than he has been, followed by short moans he almost certainly doesn't mean to slip out. His voice is deep from what he can tell, and rumbles right to McCree’s dick. He has to keep his touches light, fleeting; there's still a good chunk of video left and Hattori has him so keyed up. 

Then Hattori drags his short gloved arm up to tug at the piercing and Jesse makes the executive decision to skip forwards and properly jerk off. Hattori has changed his position, laying flat on his back with his legs open to show the world his delectable dick, complimented perfectly by the garter. Jesse quickly dismisses thoughts of Hattori dressed in a skirt and letting Jesse slip under it to blow him-- he can imagine later when he isn't watching Hattori gasp and moan, completely unable to keep himself held back anymore. The movement of his long gloved hand draws Jesse’s attention back up to his pecs, and there's the asymmetry again, just the short gloved side has a piercing. 

Seeing the full flush of Hattori’s chest does nothing to dissuade what will surely become a recurring fantasy. Seeing Hattori’s legs shudder and draw up-- vaguely pressing them together but wholly fighting it to fuck himself on his toy. Just hearing him still try to hold back his voice gets Jesse right to the edge, his full body reaction has McCree desperately slowing his hand not ready to end this yet. Could he just rewatch the video? Absolutely. Does his have a brain in his head at the movement? Absolutely not.

And then Hattori has to go and choke out a “Jeh-” and interrupt himself by sucking in a breath through his teeth. That's enough-- that's more than enough to imagine the meaningless syllable as a rushed  _ Jes _ to utterly ruin him. At the very least, Hattori paints his chest with cum shortly after Jesse does. He lets the rest of the video play out as he strokes himself through the come down. Hattori gives one of his few glances directly into the camera as he draws the short gloved hand through his own cum, dragging it up to his unpierced nipple to rub at it. Jesse almost whines at that, quickly glancing to make sure the video was just the one orgasm, and he drinks Hattori sultry gaze, a smile playing in his eyes. A parting gift, something to tease his audience one last time.

He pushes into his hand, letting a high whine slip, letting the blouse fall up and expose his full nipple. Jesse has dropped his cock by now, but he can't look away from Hattori as he lazily plays with his own chest.

Jesse’s blood boils before it suddenly freezes. With his shirt  _ just a touch _ higher the unfortunately familiar edge of a blue and gold tattoo pokes through. 

_ Fuck. _

_ Why Hanzo,  _ Jesse laments as he trudges to the bathroom to tidy himself up. To tidy himself up after he jerked off to  _ Hanzo.  _ His friend Hanzo. Who he saw everyday in a normal week. Who he had thought about  _ and written off  _ because that whole scenario was an impossible fantasy.  _ Still _ is an impossible fantasy, Jesse is quick to remind himself. Hanzo who he told his nightmares to. Who he got  _ drunk _ with on a semi-regular basis. What if he let it slip then? 

Jesse groans and throws some water on his face, stalling having to return and exit out of the site, to look at and interact with it one last time.  _ Please don't have auto play. _ He slaps his cheeks to gather his courage. Unbidden, the thought of Hanzo cleaning himself up as well comes in to join the smack to his face. 

The video was  _ just  _ uploaded. But it could've been recorded much earlier, nothing to think about! The weak excuse shattered when McCree thinks about it for more than a second. Hanzo would never keep in the moment between turning on the camera and actually getting to it-- never mind letting his tattoo slip into the video if he edited it in  _ any way _ . Even if he couldn't  _ edit _ edit a video, it would've been so easy to cut before that end, before he---  _ don't fucking think about it _ . 

_ Videos take time to upload! _ His other train of thought was derailed by the Watchpoint’s state of the art standard tech. The average video only took thirty minutes to render these days, Jesse could only hope it was for at least half of that. Though, that's doubtful as well. He  _ could _ ask Hana she wou-- 

Why would he ask Hana. He needed to just  _ forget  _ that it happened. To  _ not  _ dwell on it. To not imagine Hanzo pulling the drape down, reaching up still in the stockings, still in the garter, his muscu---

Jesse throws himself onto the bed. Hanzo wouldn’t take down the set first anyways. He'd have to sort himself out given the time of McCree’s occasional early morning habit of waking up from a horrible nightmare, exactly on the witching hour. The hour it  _ just  _ ticked into. How many times? How many times had he shuffled four doors down to knock on his door after he made a video? After he dolled himself up, after he worked himself open? How soon after did McCree come in? Why did Hanzo give him the room code and free reign to come in when he had those nightmares? Was he just being a supportive friend? What if Jesse walked in on him burying his face in his sheets and his ass ready to be fucked? What if he walked in on him and Hanzo beckoned him over with that coy gaze, saying his name? What if he indulged, if he---

He rolls over, trying to think of anything else so he won't dream about Hanzo. He grumbles as he pulls his sleep pants back on, he was so excited to dream of Hattori and his---. To dream of Hattori,  _ not _ Hanzo. Hanzo who rarely hung out with people, taking Jesse as one of the few exceptions. Hanzo who goaded him, matching shot for shot and fueling McCree’s competitive streak. Hanzo who watches from his sniper nest and ensures the team gets to safety. 

Hanzo who is unbelievably smart; smart enough to know that getting romantic with McCree is a mistake for anyone to make. 

He's getting nowhere. Jesse throws an arm over his eyes and tries to sleep, if he dreams about Hanzo  _ fuck it _ . There's a mission tomorrow and he has to at least get _some_ sleep before it. A mission where Hanzo is going to cover him. A projected open comm mission with Hanzo. Hearing Hanzo in his ear the entire time. Getting callouts from him. Thank god he still calls him McCree, he’d combust right now if he heard Jesse come from those lips. 

_ Fix your image of him, _ Mccree scolds himself, forcing him to think of Hanzo ready for a mission. Which isn’t an unattractive image either, but it’s leagues better than stocking covering those corded thighs-- Mission gear. Hanzo dressed to kill. Hanzo dressed up in his archer regalia. 

With his glove. 

“Fuck.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesse's dick is based on [ this](https://transthetics.com/bionic-penis/) MAINLY because I wanted to bring attention to it. It's going to be like, futurized or whatever so don't expect one to one with theoretical product details, but like its dope.  
i KNOW hanzo's pornsona name doesnt actually work as a name its my story and I get to choose the stupid names.


	2. Hey Dickwad, Just Do Your Damn Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long but also fuck this chapter for requiring like five rewrites. Thoughts and prayers for faster updating from here on out lmao.

Jesse lets out a huff, jostled from his nap too early. That puts a wrench in his plan-- his incredibly well thought out plan of  _ you can't shove your foot in your mouth if you're asleep.  _ He can’t even blame anyone, turbulence woke him. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes-- god knows he  _ won't _ get back to sleep-- Jesse lifts the hat off his face, checking the seats around him, and groans. Of course Hanzo would be sitting across from him, innocently chatting away with Hana (or rather, listening to Hana chatter.) Her streaming experience gave her the skills to wedge a way into Hanzo’s life, carrying a conversation with people who didn't wholly respond. Jesse doesn’t, for his own sake, think too hard on the fact that he’s gotten, by far, the most words out of the man.

At the very least, he is blessed enough that the mission is an autumn romp in the rubble of isolated Siberia; everyone will be wearing their winter gear, and for Hanzo that means mittens. Well, mitten caps he could slide on and off, but Jesse isn't planning on looking at Hanzo-- especially not his hands-- during the actual firefight. 

Hanzo’s attention is on him now, and Jesse belatedly realizes that he shouldn't vocalize anything that bubbles up regarding the situation; groans, grunts, and sighs can only be explained for a limited time. This time, he plans on writing it off on waking up. 

“Which is when Ji--” Hana catches Hanzo isn't looking at her anymore and follows his eyeline, “Good morning, cowboy.”

“Mornin’ you absolute devil.” McCree doesn't miss the teasing in her voice, as if sleeping on a nearly seven hour flight is out of line. To be fair, it is when he should've awoken at least two hours before before a combat mission-- can't have agents travel bleary. “Havin’ a fun time with your brick wall?” He flashes a smile to Hanzo, quickly (smartly) looking back to Hana. 

“I am contributing,” he comments offhandedly, checking the winter accoutremonts at his feet. Almost nobody is in their full winter gear; dying to heat stroke before they get anywhere near the enemy isn’t a good look.

Hana nods, never one to pass the opportunity to poke harmless fun, “Yeah! He almo--”

“Sometimes I say pogchamp.” Hanzo deadpans, and Hana’s giggle doesn't stop until her eyes start to water. 

“Pogchamp?”

  
  


Hana takes the queue to start an internet culture lecture; Jesse stretches his legs out, and the motion draws his eyes to Hanzo, whose luggage space he’s now lightly invading. Her voice doesn’t penetrate Jesse’s thick head to actually register a lick of it.  _ Who _ decided it was fair to give Hanzo such a perfect face. His eyes wander, taking in the soft yet masculine slope of his jaw-- balanced by his cutting cheekbones, his unfairly kissable lips, that regal nose, his soul devouring eyes. A face that seems unmoving until you catch the little details-- twitches of his mouth, a slight touch of expression in the corner of his eye. Eyes that-- Jesse can't help but notice now that he’s seen it--  _ don't _ have the pool of guilt behind them. These are soft eyes, ones that suck you in; eyes that drink you deep. Eyes that catch every little detail. Eyes that would light up with a smug mirth when he dragged his cock acros-- 

He jolts himself out of his thoughts, “Y’know!” interrupting Hana’s little stream lingo lesson, just a bit too off kilter. Just enough that Ana and Genji, engaged in some sort of card game a couple feet away, look over. “I just,” he forces out a chuckle, “think I’m a might too old for all that youngin’ culture.”

“Pogchamp is ancient!” Hana moves, settling into the chair next to him, “like,  _ majorly _ dusty. Besides you love dusty, old things,” she points to his hat, “ _ and _ Hanzo is your age!”

“Older,” Hanzo supplies, tossing Hana some sort of wrapped candy she snuck into his bag (read: he bought); her silence was guaranteed by going halfsies, letting Hanzo keep the rough loner image almost no agents still had of him. 

In turn she offers it to McCree, “Don't…” she trails off, “… don't get your lasso in a knot?”

Jesse gives her a gentle elbowing and a lighthearted huff of a chuckle, “That ain't anything, girlie. Lassos are jus’ one big ol’ knot.”

“Still! Eat the candy ‘cause you're  _ weird  _ when you wake up,  _ apparently _ .” 

He takes it, trading her a slight smile, “M’pologies, had a rough night.”

“Oh?” That caught Hanzo’s attention. “Something I would not be able to help with?” Fuck, he should've thought up a different excuse, literally  _ any _ other one. Hana’s gaze flicks between the two of them. Oh, he doesn’t want to explain  _ that  _ either, even if the image of Hanzo splayed out wasn’t branded into every fold of his brain. She just has a horrible knack for getting answers he doesn't want to give.

“Aha,” Jesse rubs the back of his neck, glad he isn't pale enough to show the heat he feels on his face. “It weren't that bad, just a little thing.”

Hanzo’s eyes pin him. “That kept you up all night?” 

“I didn't wanna wake you before a big mission…?” So much of his effort is put into  _ not _ looking into those eyes and  _ not _ remembering how Hanzo looked when he came, and not-- so much of his effort is dedicated elsewhere he doesn't even manage a half convincing lie. All his training, wasted.

Hanzo deflates a little-- a subtle shift he doesn't know if anyone else  _ would _ be able to tell-- and fuck this is exactly what he didn't want. “Han, it's really n--” 

“Fifteen minutes!” Winston’s voice cuts through the transport, and he clears his throat, clearly embarrassed by his own zeal. “Uh, this would be a good time to dress.” He clarifies, then after a pause of thought, “As you already know.”

Jesse takes the out to turn away and toss on his layers. The standard snow affair really reduces his cowboy look; no chaps, no cowboy boots, his serape is technically allowed, but the bulk under it doesn't give the same effect. At least he can shove his proper hat over the warm one. The whole ordeal is over far too quickly-- even with as much lollygagging as he could reasonably get away with-- and now he's stuck watching Hanzo prepare with his much more custom regalia; all Jesse really needs is a glove that lets his trigger finger fly. 

He glances over to Hana, but she's basically been dressed this entire time. Her mech had some or another heating element, and her snow jumpsuit had its own separate heating circuitry, beefed up to include a stretch collar that she pulls up to cover most of her face. Nobody in their right mind would go into a combat situation wearing a strip of cloth that can easily be caught and get you strangled by your own gear; Jesse fingers his scarf, already knowing he's not a reasonable, rational man.

When he  _ stupidly _ looks over to see what Hanzo's working with, regret, and (unfortunately) lust greet him. He's pulling up a cloth from his own neck, stretching it over his face. A cloth Jesse now recognizes. That leaves just his eyes, glazed in heavy thought.

Of course. 

Of course he can’t just have this  _ one _ out. Of course the identity concealing mask is some sort of warm sports weave. _ Of course  _ Hanzo has some sort of gear wearing fetish.  _ If he watched the other videos, what other pieces would pop up?  _

Jesse has never been more thankful for his ability to just turn off having an embarrassing boner, the layers would hide the start of his arousal-- but it isn't a concern you want to run through your mind while you're in battle. Instead he flexes that very mental power by assigning himself busy work, checking over peacekeeper and moving towards the exit, near Ana and Genji. Neither of them look particularly happy with him-- well, Genji doesn't look like anything with his faceplate and Jesse has associated Ana’s neutral face with an undertone of exhaustion going back to his youth-- so, they may very well just be looking; his own gnawing guilt certainly doesn't help him read the situation. 

“Are you going to be fine for the mission?” Ana asks, checking over her own rifle.

“Yes’m.” Jesse nods, tapping his foot. They're running using an autopilot with Winston in the cockpit in case it all went to shit, and that means slow as hell landings. “Don't’cha go worryin’ about me now.” 

She lightly chuckles, “You've never given me anything else to do habibi, the day you stop causing trouble is the day I relax about your scruffy little head.”

“Aw hell, mamita,” Jesse leans against the wall for stability rather than taking a seat, “You're gonna put yourself in an early grave if ya keep waitin’ for something that's never gonna happen.”

“Again.” Genji chimes in, finished putting on a surprising amount of replacement armor. McCree never knows the extent of the ins and outs, but there's always more parts swapping than he imagines. Doesn’t help that getting ready with the rest of the crew is a big departure from their time together in Blackwatch.

“Outta the three o’ us I’m the one that hasn't been declared dead once, so I think that makes lil’ ol’ me the  _ responsible  _ one.” 

“Just more responsible than Ana,” Genji lilts, “Mine was not planned  _ or _ my fault.”

“Think it was planned, greenbean, jus’ not by you.” He lightly knocks on Genji’s faceplate. The responding quip is cut short by the transport finally settling. _Show time_.   
  
With such a straightforward mission they don't bother with setting up separate channels, or even take it off open mic-- there's simply no need. Plus, it's designed to only pick up voices and voice-like noises, so as long as you're not talking or grunting while you shoot nobody is going to get an earful of gunshot; lord knows McCree got chewed out on that matter a good number of times in his youth. 

Winston knows his team, and he knows that it's useless to ask them to keep the comms clear of chatter; he’s admitted that sometimes he even prefers the banter over a cold clinical affair. So Jesse really doesn't surprise anyone when he asks everyone what their favorite hot drink is the moment they step into the snow. He figures the mission is so simple-- descending on a pack of sloppy null sector bots packed up all neat-like in a barn. No nearby civilians to worry about, an enemy who already has made so many mistakes, a singular location with virtually no chance to run into reinforcements. Hell, the plan itself is simple; Winston crashes into the barn to draw their attention, Hana and Ana circle around the back and Jesse takes the front with the Shimadas. There’s  _ no  _ need for a complicated plan, for anything more than the barest instructions. The whole ordeal has virtually no room to go wrong; that lack of room is exactly what worries Jesse into idle chatting.

“I’m partial to a good ol’ spiced cider m’self.”

They've touched down decently far away, enough to require a short saunter up to the engagement zone. Nobody wants to risk the small transport against-- at the least-- gunfire. Unfortunately for Jesse, Hanzo falls into step beside him. Which isn't anything new, and avoiding thinking about how the height difference would make it  _ so _ easy for him to tuck Hanzo’s head under his chin isn't either. What is new is the complete inability to look over in his direction-- Jesse can't tell how tongue tied he'd come across catching those eyes, that costume, so close to him.

“Pu’er tea.” He predictably answers, rolling his eyes at Genji’s following scoff. 

“You are a chronic liar, brother.” He teases, stepping beside Hanzo so he can nudge him. 

Hana joins in with light laughter, and probably would have also jostled him had she not been operating cutting edge artillery. “I bet it’s hot chocolate! Twenty creds!” 

“Ain't nobody gonna bet against that.” Jesse stops short, holding back his quip to Hanzo; he doesn't want to speak to the man without looking at him, and  _ god  _ does he not want to look at him.  _ Needs _ to not look at him, heaven knows he wants to stare at Hanzo all goddamn day. 

“I believe it is!” Thankfully, Genji knows his dutiful job as a younger brother, “Those extravagant ones with the tower of whip cream,  _ and _ sprinkles,  _ and _ other assorted candy.” His shit eating grin clearly filters through his voice even if nobody can see his actual face, “If I remember correctly.” 

“ _ If _ ” Hanzo grunts, and Jesse’s eyes slip, drifting just far enough to see the corners of Hanzo’s eyes crinkle, betraying his lighthearted smile even though he doesn’t seem able to lift his eyes from the ground. Hoo boy, talk about dangerous territory.  _ Eyes on the snow, Jesse. _

“Oh! I love those too!” Hana bounces her mech, starting to split from the group so she can flank, Ana following her. “Hey! Most of you owe me, so I’m cashing in. A cheesy stupid middle school style sleepover in the canteen, attendance  _ mandatory _ !”

“Hanzo you’ve  _ gotta  _ make me some fancy hot chocolate. Even if you” she deepens her voice as far as it will go, “‘never have done so before.’” 

Against his own sage advice Jesse glances over instinctually to check how red Hanzo is, brain absolutely falling out of his ass. Of course, he can't even see his cheeks. Of course, he just gets a close angle on what exactly he jacked off to last night. Of course he trips over his own damn feet-- barely catching himself before he falls. 

“Are you cer--”

“So what's the rest of y’alls?” Jesse completely interrupts Genji, his own face getting unbearably hot. Worst comes to worst he can try to blame it on the cold. 

Everyone pauses, coming into range. There's no way they wouldn't have been seen, and they entirely planned for that-- but the null sector omnics simply aren't looking. Why would they be looking, set up in the cold ruins of Siberia? Overconfident, wildly over violent-- Overwatch still expected  _ some  _ sort of guard. Welp, if they were all in the barn, that just meant less bodies for their snipers to clear. Or proper, dangerous, horribly deadly trouble. Always a coin flip. Silence washes through them for a few moments as they get into position.

The quiet is broken by Winston, who grunts as he crashes through the poor snow weighted roof before continuing chatter, “Just water.” 

“Just water?!” Hana voices the sentiments of everyone, the rush of her boosters coming through the channel. “Hot water?”

“Uh,” Winston clears his throat, the warbled plunk of bullets against his barrier sounding whenever his blustering is picked up, “...it's nice.”

“Don’t shame a man for his tastes.” Jesse definitely looks ridiculous hurrying in the snow, long legs doing nothing to help the half newborn deer-half small hopping dog imagery. Compared to the Shimadas, who  _ unfairly  _ move gracefully no matter the terrain, he's a downright wreck. Hell-- Ana is hitchin’ a ride on Hana’s mech; he’s the only average human who has to deal with snow. 

Hanzo adds, “May we shame a man for his inability to move when he is not wearing cowboy boots?” already at their destination and scrambling up the side of the barn. Wholly unfair, in Jesse’s opinion. Still, if it means he can't accidentally look over and see the precious details of Hanzo he can't say anything against it. A half formed thought of going back to  _ the footage  _ and searching for a birth mark, light freckles, any little thing drifts through Jesse before he can reign himself in. 

Shooting the face off of an omnic sets his mind right for the time being. “Y’can’t do that t-” before he blows out the ears of his team he shuts up to take another shot, “to a man. Cowboys ain't suited t’ snow.”

Everyone varyingly chuckles at his misfortune, giving him the opportunity to focus on everyone  _ but _ Hanzo and his deep, rich, ever so quiet chuckle. Such a small noise bubbling from the back of the throat, right where he can just barely stifle it. Just like how he can't hide the faintest smile on fake exasperated sighs, or the waver when he stupidly insists he’s fine, or hiss when pain sneaks up on him, or the gasp when he hits his--

Jesse would slap himself if Hanzo and Ana didn't have him in easy sights; hell, Genji can look over to get an easy eyeline. No way he could come up with a convincing lie with them already so wound up worrying about him. He just has to resign himself to a mind that's actively working against him.

“Shimada, your six, melee,” Ana warns, “And white tea.”

Genji glances up at the same time as Jesse, checking to see if they have to peel for Hanzo. The archer, fully capable, takes the warning by swinging his bow backward, hitting the omnic in the chin and using the momentum to swing himself to face the bot.

There's something  _ undeniably  _ attractive about any man clacking an improvised club against the chassis of an enemy-- let alone Hanzo. Clearly, he doesn't need any assistance, easily wrecking his opponent with the wrong end of his bow. Still, Jesse can't look away. There's a grace that can only belong to Hanzo in such a violent dance, following tossing his assailant off the hayloft--already well battered and unlikely to survive the drop-- by drawing an arrow and curving a shot to a completely separate enemy. Just how far away the enemy is Jesse can't tell you; he doesn't have the willpower to pry his eyes off Hanzo, let alone follow the thwip of an arrow to its destination. The additional puffs of exertion do nothing more than completely paralyze Jesse. If he could see himself he’d shoot his own stupid face for looking so forlorn and  _ openly _ mooning over Hanzo. 

A sharp whistle brings him out of his yearning reverie, a sharp two-toned little thing; he spent his first engagement with Overwatch hearing that exact whistle every day. From Reyes specially--  _ Pay Attention.  _

Jesse turns his shoulders to Genji, raising an eyebrow. He’s the only one who’d recognize that signal, and he isn’t in any immediate danger. His senses aren’t  _ that  _ dulled, years with a big bounty hanging over your head really carves them into your bones. At this point, unconsciously aware, he knows his body keeps the physical memory of alertness, reacting automatically if--

Yeah, that’s a shuriken flying next to his head. 

_ Whoops _ , that’s the metallic thdunk of it lodging itself in metal.

Okay, so  _ maybe  _ Genji has a point. No more looking in Hanzo’s direction. At all. Not to check on him-- he’s more than capable, he’s proven that many times over; just looking at him it is evident, body fine tuned into a lean killing machine. A lean body th-- 

_ Goddamn Jesse, _ he scolds himself,  _ Don’t think about him! Huh, Hanzo who?  _

“Go back,” Genji orders, voice tense. Jesse sucks in a reflexive breath through his teeth;  _ Yikes _ , that tone hasn’t been heard since Genji’s angry days. 

“I’m good,” he desperately reassures. If he accepts he’s off his game, they’re  _ going  _ to keep asking why. If he doesn’t answer, they're going to force him into the medical bay, with the stipulation that Angela can’t let him go until they figure out what’s wrong with him. Should the news come out that he’s simply unbearably and hopelessly horny for his friend, there’s probably some sort of tar and feathering maneuver the base can pull. 

“Habibi,” Ana’s voice breaks through this time, motherly concern  _ almost  _ turning his feet against him to march back to the transport. “You can’t continue like this.” 

“I’m  _ good _ ,” he growls, cracking a shot into the comm to prove he still has his aim. 

Winston stammers like he’s going to order McCree to retreat, but Hanzo speaks before he can get anything out. “McCree.” his voice is gruff and no nonsense, and despite himself, Jesse can’t help but savor it-- like every other time Hanzo has said his name. 

Jesse shakes his head, as if it’ll launch the countless thoughts of Hanzo out. “I told y’all, I’m good.” 

“Jesse,” Hanzo barks and  _ goddamn _ he could die happy, he at least heard Hanzo say his name before embarrassment kills him. “You need to care for yourself.” Soft words Jesse has said to Hanzo a good number of times before, and goddamn does he try to be a hypocrite as little as possible.

There’s no question to him turning tail, Hanzo’s a damn siren and his spell is inescapable. He grunts a gruff  _ Fine  _ into the comm, and starts back to the transport, glancing about for any surprise attacks. 

“Thank you,” Ana intones, and rolling his eyes is childish-- but nobody can see him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ill also add in that if i didn't procrastinate by writing other stories in a never ending spiral of 'oh! im writing so its good and productive but factually actually straight up isn't' I'd have a much better time


	3. Hey Jerkface, Just Take A Hint For Once in Your Goddamned Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for nourishing me with your comments. we feast tonight boys.

Ana gives him a four hour grace period on the flight back before nippin’ his heels into the cockpit-- the only non-bathroom area with a door on the plane-- so they can talk privately. For all that time to think, Jesse has yet to come up with a way to explain himself so that  _ anyone  _ would leave him alone; let alone anyone that cares about him. Ana waits-- she always has-- for him to start, letting him lean against the control console and just stare out for an uncomfortable while.

“It’s nothin’” Maybe the fourth time’s the charm.  _ Maybe  _ Ana recently suffered a concussion and lost her hound dog mother senses. There’s never  _ not  _ a zero percent chance.

“Habibi,” her stern motherly voice wrings him like he took two rounds against a washboard, “I’ve never seen you so distracted; I can’t help if I don’t know what's bothering you.” 

He breathes a deep sigh, air swelling from the very bottom of his abused lungs, “That time a’ the month?” A crooked smile flashes in hopes of persuading her he’s perfectly fine.

She doesn’t respond to the joke, just keeps staring into his eyes. The devil himself must’ve cooked up her sniper’s patience-- no way anything good has ever come from that silence. 

“It’s…” god, what  _ can  _ he say, “a personal matter-- nothin’ ya gotta doctor up.” 

Shuffling to press herself to his side, she wraps an arm around his bulk in a half hug. The hand (frail, now that he notices. The strength behind it is the same as ever, but the skin itself giving with age.) rubs circles into his bicep. “I’ve dealt with that before; I can again; you just have a full beard this time.” She pats his cheek to keep the mood light. Light- _ ish _ .

The offer hangs in the air, stale. On one hand, Ana is practically his mother and has pulled his head out of his own ass too many times to count; on the other hand, Ana is practically his  _ mother  _ and the last thing he wants to do is talk to her about whose ass he wants to bury his face into. 

It’s also not only his secret, either. If he just starts  _ pouring  _ his heart into her hands he’ll slip up eventually; Hanzo riding a dick is just an easy click away, prancing around in the forefront of his mind at all times. Technology hasn’t advanced cyborgization far enough to just let  _ that  _ slip and live through however Hanzo  _ rightly  _ decides to kill him. 

“I’ll give it a good ol’ think,” and he genuinely will think about it, think about how nice it would be to talk to someone about the how Hanzo thinks Jesse doesn’t notice when he purposefully over serves himself so he can give it to him, or how he turns away to smile-- only ever caught by a reflection he didn’t notice, or how he has a bad habit of drinking off his fingers he only ever indulges in when he’s three sheets to the wind, or--

Ana’s jostling pulls him out of his thoughts, concern awash over her face. “Even if you don’t tell me, promise you’ll try to help yourself through whatever this is.” 

It hits him that she’s seen him through a lot-- a lot of needlessly reckless actions and a lot of disregard for his own life. He reaches around to squish her into his side, “Promise, mamita, don’t’cha worry ‘bout that.” 

“And,” she pulls back with a smile, playfully slapping his torso, “remember that I am not above tying you to a chair if you let this go on too long.” 

Jesse chuckles; he was a right dickhead in his youth and Ana never hesitated to deliver a good tongue lashing-- if he had his memories blown right out of his head he’d still remember the legendary _ No Smoking Around My Daughter  _ lecture that she somehow stretched into two hours of pure guilt. “That’s in the past, I--” 

A knock sounds upon the cabin door, and Genji peeks his head in, “We opened the celebration wine,” he explains, flashing a smile and two styrofoam cups to the room. Ana steps away and McCree stretches; he’s not going to go back to drink-- certainly not around Hanzo-- just  _ out  _ and  _ away  _ from this whole situation, but before he can jingle his spurs, Ana has tagged out and Genji closes the door behind him. It strikes Jesse that they also had four hours to scheme, and that’s just  _ unfair. _

“What’d he do?” Genji offers him one of the cups, taking a sip of the other without breaking eye contact. 

He looks to the thick glass at the front of the plane, calculating how fast he’d have to throw himself into it to crash through. If only he finished highschool-- now he’s just trapped up here. “Who?” 

“My eyes are cybernetic,” he shakes the offered cup at Jesse, who belatedly takes it, “not gone.”

Oh, that’s a loaded question.  _ Nothing directly _ \-- Genji wouldn’t go for that. He also, Jesse hazards an educated guess, wouldn’t go for his friend sniffin’ at his brother’s crotch like an unfixed dog. He rubs at his chin, looking into the styrofoam cup-- ah, there it is, a completely  _ different  _ topic to avoid answering the question.

“Boone’s ain’t wine,” he gestures with the cup of tropical blue liquid. 

Genji doesn’t bite, crossing his arms, “It says wine product on the label. So, my brother?”  _ Great  _ talk, what other things can he get a sentence unrelated to Hanzo from. Nice buttons up here, huh? You think the leather’s cracking on the pilot's chair? Oh, is that a new polish you’re using? 

He exhales through his teeth, “He didn’t do nothin’.” 

Genji, in a wild turn of surprising events, doesn’t thank him and waltz out of the cockpit perfectly satisfied with the answer and never going to broach the topic ever again. “I am his brother, but I am  _ aware  _ he is a dick.” 

_ The problem ain’t him bein’ a dick,  _ the feral uncouth depths of Jesse wants to say,  _ it's wantin’ him on mine.  _ Instead, he gingerly lowers the styrofoam cup, still mostly full, into the little garbage can and just stays there-- crouched and on his way to working a bald spot on his chin. Genji hovers his hand around McCree until he just gingerly pats him. Not, surprisingly, the most awkward interaction the two have had-- they’re both a lot more emotionally stable.

“If it is a concern, you do not have to forgive him for the offense just because I for--”

“It ain’t--” McCree chokes out, torn between taking the cup out of the trash to just down it and the escalating storm in his stomach, which a move like that certainly wouldn’t help with. “It’s my end.” he settles on, steeling his breath and standing properly-- he shoots an aborted look to the door as if that’ll make Genji pass back through it. 

“I am certain if you apologize for any wrongdoing he will accept,” Genji reasons, channeling his Zenyatta voice, “Despite his glare, you are  _ very  _ important to him.” 

_ That  _ gets McCree choking on his spit. He knows  _ logically  _ everyone who stayed with Genji is important to him; nights spent lamenting that he could never thank them enough for covering all his failings-- but it’s very different to hear it being said. Pounding his chest, red-faced and low on air, he nods. “Yup, you’re right-- you’ve got it, glow stick.” 

Genji looks confused, and the joyless smile he gives the cyborg helps exactly zero percent of the matter. “I’ll ‘pologize once we land, don’t wanna trap ‘im up here with me.” 

His escape is halted by the iron grip of a cyborg on his belt-- his full-grain leather, expensive to replace, hard to tear belt. “You should do it now…?” Genji’s voice tilts, focused far more on thinking rather than speaking. 

McCree nods, stepping to leave again only to still meet resistance at Genji’s hand. “Right,” he clears his throat, surmounting a confidence he doesn’t have, “I’ll ‘pologize to him in a jiffy.” 

The grip doesn’t loosen. Genji steps into his space, eyes flicking all over his face- and while Jesse logically knows he  _ can’t actually--  _ he feels like hears metallic wooshes as they scan back and forth. “That is not it…” the words are barely spoken under his breath, but he’s too close for Jesse to miss. In turn, he’s more than close enough to catch the moment Jesse’s shoulders lock and consciously loosen-- blatantly trying not to tense. 

His teeth click together when he gives Genji a big ol’ smile, “Nope, ya got it bud.” He pointedly shifts his weight onto the hip where Genji has a vice grip on his belt.  _ Take an even breath too,  _ he reminds himself,  _ you’re fine, no need to panic _ . “Made me see th’ light,” Was that  _ too  _ much reassurance? Did it seem fake? “I’m bein’ a dick.” _ Fuck abort _ . Closed mouth McCree is  _ always  _ the best way to keep secrets; he really should remember that by now.

The soul searing squint of Genji chars his heart right up, and he glances away before he spontaneously combusts-- death by brotherly inquisition is up on the top ten chart of ways he doesn’t want to go. “Tell me what you did, I will pass no judgement.” Which is easy to say when someone doesn’t know what they’re judging. Certainly, he doesn’t need to hear the truth of  _ that  _ matter.

“I…” What wouldn’t Hanzo talk about with Genji? Genji is the only topic that comes to his mind, and that’s just a life-regret situation-- nothing he can hop in on. Cowboy poetry, but that’s more of a guilty pleasure than anything negative. If he tore up a part of Hanzo’s collection? All of that was technically _his own _collection, if it was even stored on paper. Oh hell-- he’s let the silence hang too long, “made…” Made? _Made, _Jesse McCree? What in god’s name could you _make _that’s insulting? He berates himself. “him a--”

“I am not going to believe you,” Genji gently informs him, “This is the  _ worst  _ you have ever lied in your life, cowboy.” He lets go of the belt, stepping back and crossing his arms. Right in the path between McCree and the door. Jesse would stare him down were he able to keep eye contact for more than two consecutive seconds. 

Metal fingers donk against metal chin, “It  _ is  _ about my brother…” Genji’s enhanced eyes pick him apart, “It  _ is  _ about you…” Stepping back into his space, a grin tickles the corner of his mouth, “You  _ choked  _ when I said he cared…” 

Jesse closes his eyes at this point, praying to a god who long scorned him for Genji to force this round peg into a square hole. 

“Jesse McCree, you are a gay mess.” Genji announces, stepping back-- that much he can tell, but the last thing he wants to do is see whatever horrified expression he has on his face; the eyes stay closed. 

“I hate t’ tell ya…” One more attempt,  _ this  _ time he’s got it, “I’ve been out f’r awhile now. Ain’t a realization.” 

He feels cold hands clap against his face, too soft to be a slap, too rough to be caring, “Jesse.” It sounds as though Genji is smiling? That may just be the stress rewiring his brain-- his eyes open to check without permission. Yeah, that’s a smile-- why? “You are  _ fawning  _ over my brother.” 

Fawning-- he’s smiling because he has no clue Jesse can’t look at his brother without thinking about how he’d look riding this cowboy. That he can’t just go back to normal, silent pining, secure in the safety of barely acknowledging it.

“Jesse!” Genji jiggles McCree’s head, “Just  _ tell  _ him!” 

“Whoa now,” Pulling back from his grip he backs right into the console, almost certainly bruising something, “I’d still like to talk to the guy, maybe keep m’ fleshy bits.” But it’s not like he can talk to Hanzo  _ now.  _

Nope, no way, no listening to Genji. Not entertaining that line of thought anymore.

“You think?” Genji steps back again, not blocking McCree in this time, “You think he’d hate you?” The way his voice climbs higher and higher makes it seem like it’s a ridiculous idea. Probably caught up in the euphoria of a cowboy-in-law.  _ Too far _ , he corrects himself,  _ no thinking about that. _

“Know,” McCree corrects, clearing his throat. 

Genji looks to the door, like he needs backup. “You are…” he sighs, letting silence hang for a moment. “I can  _ promise  _ he wouldn’t hate you.” 

“Now,” It’s Jesse’s turn to slap a metal hand on Genji’s shoulder, “I don’ want you to use your sway t’ make him force himself through things jus’ for me.” 

Plucking his hand off, his eyes harden “That is not…” a haggard sigh escapes him, “I am offended you would assume I would hold what that over his head.” 

“It ain’t that,” McCree quickly cuts in. “It’s that he’ll do anythin’ you ask of him, he’s committed to bein’ a better brother.” At the sake of his own interests. If Genji let it slip that he was holding a torch for Hanzo that’s it; he’d snap McCree up and spend his time in a miserable fake relationship like some 1950’s housewife. 

“If  _ I  _ don’t tell him…?” Genji gets scheming glint to his eye. Where is he going with this?

“I’d appreciate that…?” 

Genji rolls his eyes, “What if  _ someone else  _ told him.” 

“Oh hell no,” McCree pulls back, “I don’t want anyone else to know. The less folks know I got in over my head for a man who don’t like me none, the better.” If Genji could just wipe his brain, that’d be preferable. 

“Hana could tell him,” he doesn’t drop it like a reasonable man would-- Zenyatta should’ve philosophized that into him. He’ll have to ask the monk the next time he sees him. “She doesn’t have any sway over him.” 

“She don’t have any  _ power  _ over him,” he corrects, “She’s got the most goddamn sway over him of all th’ folks here. It--”

“That is you, but continue.” 

“-- it’s their whole thing, she sticks to him like glue and he pretends he only tolerates it, he bends over backwards to make sure she’s good.” 

“Angela?” Genji offers instead, “She doesn’t like him at all, so no second layer to the relationship.” 

“Oh yeah,” he nods sarcastically, “The doctor who saved his brother’s life-- no influence there.” 

A  _ tch  _ sounds from the back of Genji’s throat, as if McCree is being obstinate instead of rational and logical. “Winst--”

Okay, Genji has officially stopped thinking, “His commander?” 

“Mei?” 

Was he just going to go down the roster now? “ _ Who _ can say no to Mei? She’d ask me all sweet like in that voice of hers and I’d go try’ta bust a bronco wearin’ nothing but olive oil.” 

“How ab-” McCree gestures for him to stop. Genji really isn’t going to let this go-- better to just take the reins. Who has no sway over Hanzo? Lena, but she’d tell the whole damn crew and that’s a bad recipe. Rein, but that boy can’t keep no secrets just on account of his voice. Brigette, but there’s the off chance she’s close enough to Hana that he feels an obligation to her. Torbjorn? Would he even tell Hanzo if he knew? He’s tinkering all day, calling up his wife, occasionally being roped into something Rein and Brigette are doing, but he’s never sticking his schnauz into anyone else’s business.

“Ya can tell Torb.” There’s some brain cells firing-- congratulations on retaining them Jesse.

“Torbjorn?” Genji hits a new octave, “That’s not fair!” 

“I’m compromisin’’ with ya here,” he steps past him, swinging the door open and stepping through, looking back at a frowning Genji-- it feels good to be in charge of the conversation for a hot minute. “Torb or no one.” 

“Is it your arm then?” Jesse startles right back into the man he’s trying to forget. The yelp he lets out is downright embarrassing. Hanzo is  _ right there  _ looking up at him with his eyes all soft and his brow ever so slightly ticked in concern-- caring about  _ him. _ As a friend. Just a friend. Friends who don’t dip each other and kiss like they’re in a telenovela-- no matter how much his body screams at him to do so. Glancing back into the cockpit only fuels a growing murderous bug, Genji covering his mouth and doing a poor job of trying not to laugh. 

“Yeah,” he nods, stepping back from Hanzo. One good, long legged step back. “It’s complicated, but that’s the jist.” 

He nods, eyes drifting to the seam of Jesse’s arm. “Will you need to remove it then?” 

“Na--” 

“Yes!” Genji steps past him with an overjoyed grin and hooks an arm around his brother, “He might need help going about his day; he is worried about being a burden.” 

He blinks blankly, surprised Genji would do him a solid like that. Maybe Zenyatta had gotten further into him lately. Maybe he feels bad about accosting him in the cockpit. Maybe he’s just being a bro.

“I am trying to convince him to let Angela upgrade it with finer nerves--” Which is something he  _ has _ been nagging him about for awhile, “--but he is holding on to his sporatic one.” Which is also technically true, it ain’t wholly broken yet, so why fix it? “I am going to get Torbjorn to collaborate with Angela so he does not have to perform so many rituals to ‘keep the luck in’ and hope it works.” Genji lying is a familiar friend, and damn, does it feel good to be back in on one-- just laying out the facts without connecting them. The wicked grin splitting his face as he stares into Jesse’s eyes is a touch out of place, everything considered. 

“He will need someone to help him, and we both know he will not ask for it.” Jesse’s gut starts to sink as Genji gives his brother a little shake. “I will be on a surveillance mission for the next week, or I would do it.” 

That rat bastard. Jesse officially revokes anything good he’s ever said about the man. Awful, slimy no good back-stabber. He has half a mind to dump him into a lake and hope he shorts out-- which he won’t because Angela’s too good and wants him to  _ live  _ or something. She’s a traitor by association. 

“It is no problem,” Hanzo predictably answers, like he cares about people. Like he already spends a lot of time with McCree so he doesn’t mind spending a bit more. Like they’re friends-- time to kiss that goodbye when Jesse does something horribly obvious. 

“Sankyu!” Genji chimes, “He’ll be going to Torbjorn tomorrow morning.” He pats his brother’s shoulder before leaving with a smug-ass grin. 

“You don’t hav’ta I can figure out somthin’--” Jesse tries, because  _ god  _ spending so much time around Hanzo is  _ not  _ going to be good for him. Hell, he can barely look at the man with his tousled hair, dried with sweat that he  _ desperately _ tries not to associate with what he imagines waking up next to him would be like. Or heaven forbid, take in the sweatpants and tanktop combo that shows off his arms and a slip of his midsection whenever he has to reach up. Not to mention the sheer presence of Hanzo pouring into--

“--ree? Jesse?” And oh  _ fuck _ , he’s just going to start saying that now, huh? 

“Y-yeah?” He tries reaching back to lean against the doorway to the cockpit-- perhaps the only thing that’ll give him some moral support on this forsaken transport-- and manages after missing only twice. 

“McCree, it is pertinent to get better sooner rather than later, you are making yourself a liability.” Hanzo gives him a gentle nod and  _ oh shit  _ his heart might as well be tied up in those black strands for how hard the simple motion tugs at it. “I will see you tomorrow morning, be certain to get some rest.” 

Jesse nods at his retreating form dumbly, before looking down the stairs to see Genji (smug) pointing him out to Ana (also suddenly smug). They aren’t talking so he can’t just  _ accuse  _ him of doing anything; but only one of her eyes is gone, and with Genji directing the other one-- two people know his awful dirty secret for sure. Ana at least, he sits between a  _ hopes  _ and a  _ figures _ , wouldn’t go telling anybody. Desperately avoiding her eyes, he sees Hana take a break from braiding some of Winston’s hair to excitedly punch Hanzo’s arm. Hopefully  _ her  _ good news is enough to keep him at bay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thank you to archive of our own anonymous impatiens capensis for fueling me to write like a crackhead and letting me circlejerk over my own work. ur the real mvp


	4. Hey Dumbass, You Know That Pink Thing Between Your Ears is a Brain, Right?

For all he rags on himself, Jesse McCree is a smart guy-- most of the time. He’s got a knack for literature that surprises most people, he’s a card at chess, can measure out an exact cup without tools, and when he makes a plan he can follow it all the way through. The  _ rest  _ of the time his brain evacuates and he thinks things like;  _ it’s the taboo of it  _ and  _ if I get used to it it won’t affect me _ to justify going back to that ancient site.

To give him credit, it’s been a hell of a day; he’s been emotionally suplexed by his dear friend. To take that credit away, even then it’s an undeniably stupid idea. Jesse  _ figures  _ that if he goes back to the source of all his current problems he can just jack off  _ knowing  _ its Hanzo this time and the entire ordeal will be demystified. Back to the old days of silent and controllable pining. Of course, he extends his half-assed logic, it should be from a time when he wasn’t on base-- to minimize thinking about it happening four doors away from him, completely  _ theoretically  _ in reach. As though there’s a way to optimally go about jerking off to your friend’s profile that he doesn’t know you know about.

There is, unfortunately, the fact that he and Hanzo work great together as a team so they aren’t off on extended assignments without each other too often. The last time was four months ago, and there’s no uploads during that entire time, then there's a time a week or two before that where he had to go to an off base doctor and they kept him for observation-- Hanzo didn’t take the opportunity to record anything. It takes him a long enough to cross reference his calendar to the videos that you’d imagine the fact this is a  _ bad  _ idea would strike him. 

Instead of finding sense he manages to find one video, about seven months back-- the mission a god awful ordeal where he had to bump elbows with some old money spanish socialites; he was contractually barred from even bringing his hat. There’s something to be said about good old blue jeans that he never appreciated until after that whole fiasco, though perhaps it would have been less stressful if Lena didn’t send him out on an egg hunt for them. The entire base found the mission requirement so amusing-- or just hated his wardrobe that much they did everything to ‘prank’ him by doing various things to his perfectly fine clothes.

Hanzo mentioned Jesse didn’t look like himself, he smiles, remembering how Hanzo seemed so flighty-- not used to talking to him without weapons in their hands-- when he returned his hat. Saved it right from his brother, who no doubt would’ve hung it somewhere only ninjas could access; and have him owe Genji one-- which is one of the worst people to have that power, slamming it down at the littlest yet most inopportune moments. It’s a gift of his.

Jesse opens the video, desperately hoping it’ll be enough because finding one already took up too much time. For all his anticipation, his system is still shocked when he sees Hanzo-- tattoo and face covered, otherwise nude-- move into frame, showing a print out of comment he _presumably _got from one of his patrons: _wanna to see u in a costume sweetheart. _Jesse’s forebrain finally gets an inkling of _oh, shit, this is only going to get us in deeper,_ but his hindbrain says _man sexy; _and can anyone really argue with that? Hanzo gives the viewer a pause to read the message, giving little finger hearts to the camera before walking back off screen. 

A good pause where there’s nothing but shuffling being heard in the background  _ might  _ be a good time for self reflection, a good time to get out before it actually starts, but Jesse is absorbed in trying to figure out what Hanzo has hidden just behind the bed-- just a touch out of frame, tucked under the overhang of the blanket. Thankfully (for absolutely no one other than Jesse’s dick) Hanzo returns. 

He slinks onto the bed, red thigh high stockings contrasting with the dark sheets. His appreciation for how the gold trim presses into the meat of Hanzo’s thigh is distracted by following the line of the classic leather garter to his honest to god lace panties, doing absolutely nothing to cover him. They’re a matching set to the stockings, red with a golden trim-- something partially metallic for how it catches the light as Hanzo moves. A delicious pang reverberates through Jesse; the no-baked plan goes full runaway train. He moves to idly touch himself--  _ it’s official: hand touched dick, there’s no going back _ . (Ignoring the fact that Jesse could, at any time completely stop if he only summoned the brain cells and the will.)

Hanzo draws his hands up his body as he settles on his knees, and Jesse really doesn’t know what costume he could be going for with the black and red checked flannel. It’s an every man staple-- god knows he’s got one or two in  _ his  _ closet, but it doesn’t scream any particular theme; maybe lumberjack or mountain man, but without suspenders it's a pretty vague costume. Half-assed doesn’t line up with Mr. Never Second Best, so it has to be something else. If he’s being a bit honest with himself, he was hoping Hanzo would unravel himself out of something traditional-- but maybe that’s a touch too personal. Still the flannel is  _ ridiculously  _ hot, he’ll admit, tied up under his pecs and open just enough to show a black bralette underneath. He’s not going to go complaining to the man any time soon. Because he won’t be talking about this to the man. Who he can  _ actually  _ see in real actual life. Who could reasonably show up wearing this shirt at any time.

Jesse shakes himself out of his spiral, reminding himself that this  _ will _ cure his inability to think around Hanzo. Reimmersing himself, he gives Hanzo his rapt attention as he winks at the camera and ties a bandana over his face, removing the usual mask under it once it’s secure; bandanas, Jesse realizes, all look very alike because he’s got the spitting twin of it in his own closet. Or had-- lost the little sucker valiantly to tying it into a tourniquet for his problem of an archer. At some point in healing him up they just up and forgot it wasn’t a part of the usual medical trash. Still, something must have stuck with Hanzo for him to buy one that looks like it-- probably a bitch to find too; Jesse had gotten his embroidered by his abuela back when he was talking to family-- and she weaved a floral pattern around the edges based off of the mantas she’d embroider. Hanzo has the money to commission an artist, Jesse figures, and he’d tease him about it if that wasn’t the worst move he could ever make in his life. Can’t give a man shit about his pocket bandana if you go out and buy one when it comes in to save your ass in a pinch-- he’ll just keep an eye out for it whenever he’s in Hanzo’s room so he can legitimately give him shit. Seeing it without Hanzo’s salacious gaze looking at him from over top of it would also be beneficial for the quality of teasing he could do; it also wouldn’t matter, because he  _ is _ curing himself right now.

Hanzo runs his hands through his hair, and with the way they just glide through it Jesse  _ knows  _ it’s gotta be the silkiest damn thing on the watchpoint. Not that he’s near it when this was being filmed-- and he’s desperately avoiding the fact that he  _ is _ near it in the present.  _ Video, focus on the video in front of you _ Jesse pleads with himself and the way Hanzo has turned over to grab whatever is on the floor easily captures him back. Hanzo coyly roots around like he hasn’t already grabbed the damn thing, subtly swaying, giving his audience a good look at how those panties hug his beautiful ass. That, he reminds himself, rubbing light circles on his dick for the sensation in his hand rather than anything else, he won’t be distracted by when he spots him. Just after this small detour.

When he rolls back around on his knees, facing the camera, his eyes crinkle with the coy smile Jesse just  _ knows _ is under the bandana; he places the thing-- a hat-- on his head. It’s a cowboy hat, which  _ yeah  _ Jesse can see the outlaw theming-- a little tongue in cheek knowing the man. Information nobody else watching has; just a joke between them--  _ not  _ between them, there’s no mutual knowledge-- it’s Hanzo being cheeky and Jesse recognizing it. Nothing truly  _ shared.  _

Hanzo gives the hat a gentlemanly tip and Jesse hard restarts, dropping himself and bringing his screen closer as if it’ll change. That’s  _ his  _ hat--  _ definitely  _ his hat, notch in the brim and everything. He’s been  _ wearing  _ that hat. His own damn hat has gotten closer to his wildest dreams than he has; and Hanzo  _ is _ truly an absolute dream in it, wearing something of his-- something so  _ unmistakably  _ his. Like Jesse has any part of his heart and not like it was an easy accessory to make a costume of, that it wasn’t something he already had laying around. The fantasy it conjures is sweet enough-- having claimed Hanzo’s heart, him plucking it off Jesse’s head to tease, him just wearing it and everybody he passes associating him with McCree-- so he indulges. Tonight is the night of indulgences, to get everything out. 

Sometime during Jesse’s shock, Hanzo brought out his equipment-- a simple dildo, though from this angle it definitely looks like a non-human one. Information to file for later-- or to not file for later because he’s  _ not  _ going to think about this ever again. He comes back from his thoughts to a beautiful view of Hanzo on his knees, the red lace-- already giving a desperate attempt to neatly contain his dick-- visibly pressing into his stomach as he tugs at it from behind, just moving it aside, slowly sinking onto his toy; Jesse definitely doesn’t miss the way his eyes so minutely flutter or the knit to his brow as he gets filled. Imagining those legs caging his hips instead of some mount is unnervingly easy; some part of Jesse ingrained the spar sessions between the two, ingrained Hanzo pinning him, how he looks on top of Jesse, out of breath. Long has he pointedly avoided thinking about it, but he lets it wash over him now. A full chest groan escapes, and he tightens his grip into something proper. 

Slowly, as he shuffles ever so slightly, Hanzo’s hand comes up-- left, covered, tattoo so intimately Hanzo-- to grab his hat, securing it as he lifts himself up and  _ bounces  _ back down. Cowgirl, Jesse  _ would  _ connect the dots if he had any part of his brain left; all of it goes to working himself in time with Hanzo.  _ Oh--  _ Hanzo’s palming himself through the lace, head tilting back and allowing the heady breaths he works up to carry just a touch of his rumble. As he brings himself to look back at the camera, he drops the hand holding the hat in favor of lightly dragging his fingertips over his chest. It’s a good thing Jesse is unequivocally going to never think about this again-- the sight of Hanzo grabbing himself through the panties would surely burn itself into his brain otherwise. 

With the hat unsecured, it falls when Hanzo shifts his weight back-- quickly letting out a gasp-- and lolls his head to the side. His hair is the most unkempt Jesse has ever seen, rattled and rustled by  _ his  _ hat; his big headedness worth it for once in his life. Hanzo looks surprised when it falls off, slowing to a grind-- too keyed up to stop-- and reaching out to pick it up. The angle change must do something for him; a moan isn’t quite choked down. His hands grab the hat, fingers curling in sharp enough for the scrape of the nails to be audible, brim curled, thumb pressing against a shell on the band-- Jesse doesn’t know the explanation for Hanzo holding it against his chest instead of wearing it. Too caught up in the moment, maybe. He moves the hand from his dick up to play with his chest, instead. Jesse  _ does  _ know he’s grabbing at the base of his dick to push it into himself in a sharp wave that radiates through his body, and he does know that he keeps pressing his hips into the air without realizing it, and he does hope that the video is short one because he’s really not a multi-orgasm guy. 

Seemingly torn between touching himself and setting the hat down, Hanzo starts to drag it down his front startling when he realizes what he’s doing. Going back to his previous pace, Hanzo brings his free hand to that ruined lace instead-- still he doesn’t put the hat back on and Jesse lessens his touch, the sight doing too much to his poor mind. In a one-two combo Hanzo abruptly pulls his hand under the bandana-- eagerly licking them, playing with his tongue if the sound is anything to go by. And  _ oh  _ there’s so much more noise coming out of Hanzo even with his mouth occupied, surely tasting himself; moans worm their way out his throat raw and bare-- his mouth has to be  _ open _ . Jesse can see his dick jump under the lace. WIth his focus turned to the soaked lace he nearly misses the touch of drool that drips from under the bandana. He  _ doesn’t  _ miss how it lands on his hat, and neither does Hanzo; instead of setting the hat down or putting it back on he drops his spit soaked hand back to his cock, slipping it under the-- frankly-- abused lace. 

Hanzo almost brings the hat to his head, focus-- sniper’s focus, impressive focus, focus he uses to kill people-- utterly wrecked as his legs stop cooperating, distracting him. When his stomach jumps and he cums through the lace, he almost seems surprised-- he buries his face into the hat quickly, poorly muffling his deep moan, and Jesse doesn’t know if that’s better or worse but the sight of Hanzo’s ruined lingerie, his half hearted twitch of a grind and Jesse properly, furiously, jerking his cock is more than enough to send a mind numbing wave through his body, flexing every muscle in his legs to try to get of any reprieve from the intense pulse. Its pure habit that he manages to adjust his cock to cum over his abdomen, should anyone think to accuse him of thinking ahead for once.

While he grabs at the base of his dick, riding the little grinds as he comes back to himself, Hanzo finally puts the hat back on, lifting off the dildo in a maddening move that pushes his arms into his chest, knowing full well his effect on his audience. Jesse should’ve definitely given the chest fantasy some spotlight before he doesn’t think about Hanzo like this ever again. Because he let it all out, no more tension, no more surprises-- all behind him.

The video ends while Jesse goes about cleaning himself, the silence of the room a touch deafening. There’s a part of him that almost wants to suffer through the over sensitivity to hear those little sounds Hanzo makes for one last last time; instead a stellar orgasm and barely passable plane sleep catch up to him. He makes a relatively smart move and tucks himself right into bed; despite his exhaustion his mind still races.

Officially, he is done with the situation and his hands are clean. No more tripping up around Hanzo, Genji’s little scheme won’t fuck him up. Their friendship  _ won’t  _ be ruined.

Jesse looks to the clock on his bedside dresser, and it’s still before 6am-- the unofficial time of a true new day. The night  _ technically  _ isn’t over.

He lets his thoughts go where they might, and who could’ve known they’d go right to how wonderful it would be to curl around Hanzo, to have him sleep in his arms. His dreams, similarly, are plagued by Hanzo; there's no consistency to the tone of the dream, flashing from domestic to erotic and back again, sometimes mixing-- but it’s by far the best sleep he’s had in memory. 

And the dreams are fine. Because they happened in the night. 

And he was  _ over  _ Hanzo. 

He got all of that out in one fell move. There’s no way on god’s green earth he would even think about Hanzo wearing chaps next time-- or even a hypothetical next time. No sir.

Jesse is sure that once he properly awakens, all of those thoughts will be gone.

(The absolute idiot.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i know im bad at writing anything remotely sexy so dont @ me (or do @ me if you've got any tips)  
thoughts and prayers for the safe return of McCree's brain.


	5. Hey Bastard, Any More Bright Ideas?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took. longer than i thought it would. but its here for your enjoyment finally.

Angela shuffles into the workshop halfway into the comprehensive diagnostic check Torbjorn insists on running. Based on the bags under her eyes and hastily pinned up hair, she wasn’t expecting to work today-- he’d tell her to blame Genji, but that runs the risk of her asking how he convinced Jesse to do it on such short notice. He learned his lesson about talking yesterday; it’s just better to let her mumble over to Torbjorn between her yawns as she slowly wakes up, even if he’d love to know what they’re saying about him. Which isn’t just paranoia upon hearing a language he doesn’t speak-- undoubtedly they’re talking about him, he’s heard _ McCree _ sprinkled in the german the two are exchanging. They talked about the arm in english in the very beginning, and he’s tuned out enough medical-mechanical babble to notice a marked difference between the two conversations. 

The most unfortunate part is he has no clue about what the two could be talking about. Neither of them are the gossiping type, and his birthday isn’t coming up, leaving him completely devoid of any hints. He catches Genji and Hanzo’s name a couple of times-- which might be related to the arm; Genji is Angela's break through after all, and Hanzo is the cause of that situation. Ingrid comes up twice and Reinhardt once, which makes less sense. Infuriatingly, he’s only got the corner pieces to this puzzle-- maybe it’s all unrelated. After all a man can talk about his partners whenever he wants.

_ Something _Torbjorn says absolutely scandalizes Angie. He decides that making some chatter wouldn’t give him a lick of trouble, considering how they’re not discussing the finer points of his clunker arm. “Arm that bad, huh?” 

Clearing her throat, Angela throws a glance to Torbjorn before fully swiveling her stool to look at Jesse properly. “No. It is not _ bad. _ Still, it isn’t _ good _ . I am just… surprised you’re so drawn to it. You have always…” she flops her hands around, searching for the words, “had awful taste.” _ Oof _, not looking to find anything to cushion the blow apparently. 

  
  


“She’s a sturdy heifer.” Jesse moves to pat the arm, only to be stopped by a harsh glare from Torbjorn. He’s still apparently on whatever is taking so long to check. “No point in throwin’ out the ol’ girl whose gotten me this far.”

Angela clicks her tongue, “I suppose I overestimated your sense. Such attractions…” Torbjorn gestures at the inner workings of the arm, saying _ something _Jesse can’t understand and interrupting Angela. Her reply is low and terse before she turns back to him. “There’s just no telling if he’s going to falter and get you killed. Or, god forbid, break and kill you outright.” 

If she felt so strongly about the damn arm why is he only hearing this _ now, _when he’s getting it replaced? After all, he’s received his fair share of lectures on so many other things, she’s not shy about brute force caring him into some semblance of health. “Ang, I think you’re bein’ a touch dramatic.” The only theory he has is that Torbjorn has her wound up about something-- yet Angela is the queen of compartmentalizing. Could it be that she’s just too tired to?

“Dramatic?” She huffs, “Have you looked at Genji recently?”

Jesse doesn’t stop his brow from furrowing, “I know Genji’s had his fair share of technical difficulties-- an’ I ain’t in such dire straits. But I don’t think he’s had any major malfunctions doc.” 

“He hasn’t, but that isn’t relevant to my point. My point is--”

“You two can have at it outside of my workshop,” Torbjorn interrupts, disconnecting Jesse’s arm completely, beckoning over Angela. The chill is palpable as she dresses the raw pseudo-wound where his metal arm integrates with his flesh arm. Her movements are as calm and caring as ever, but her forehead twisted in concerned wrinkles.

“I’m here for the arm, and I don’t need ya anymore, boy.” The mechanic dismisses both of them, turning his focus away.

“How long’re you thinkin’’ it’s gonna take?” He starts rolling his sleeve up higher, giving it just that much more room to slip before he has to notice and fix it. Or not notice and be surprised by the sudden wave of irritation. 

“I’d guess sometime between now and... when it’s done.” Torbjorn laughs like he made a joke, with his whole body, going as far as to throw his head back. At least _ he _finds himself funny. “Y’can’t rush perfection lad! I’ll be workin’ as hard as I can, but to keep the body as is and rewire the thing is a task and a half.” 

Jesse nods, standing and immediately overcompensating his weight. Instantly, Angela scoots herself against his side, allowing him the space to recover from his stumble without agitating the sensitive skin on his stub. At least she wasn’t unreasonably mad enough to take that shot, or to let him tip over the stool. “Thanks Ange, I’ve got it from here.” 

That doesn’t get her smiling either, her lips instead disappearing from how hard she screws them together, “Do you have someone to help you? So you don’t try to hobble together a temporary arm _ again _ ?” Unrelenting, she hovers at his side as they walk out of the workshop like it’s her job. It _ is _her job, technically, but Jesse knows damn well she’s not on the clock.

“Hey now,” he picks his hat up with one hand and goes to smooth his hair with the other, gingerly setting the hat back down once he realizes. Hopefully Torb will have his arm in shape before he gets used to not having it-- he’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t have to catch anything. “It was a good idea for awhile there.” 

“And then you accidentally stabbed yourself.” 

“Then I accidentally stabbed myself,” He parrots, “but lightning don’t strike twice.” 

A heavy sigh drags through her small frame. “A lot of the base is out, but if you don’t mind hanging in the lab I can look out for you.” She offers a reassuring pat on his shoulder. Damn her bleeding heart, people hovering over him is _ exactly _ why he refused for so long. Yeah, he can’t do _ some _things, and he has a harder time doing a lot of things, but he doesn’t suddenly become helpless.

“I’ve got a guy.” He weasels out, knowing perfectly well how Angela only tolerates Hanzo on missions for professionalism’s sake, and on base for Genji’s. “All covered, Genji arranged it when he set me up-- set this all up.”

“And it isn’t Genji?” Her voice lilts curiously, genuinely and it’s an appreciated turn from the former tension. The view from the bad side of her bed isn’t anything to send postcards home about.

He shrugs, “He had some sorta assignment.”

“He isn’t scheduled for his pre--” Eyes flick up and down his face-- she’s reading something there that makes her skeptical. “He arranged it between you and Hanzo.” 

“Yup. He figures I spend most’a my time doin’ similar things to the guy th--” 

“And with your horrid taste.” 

“Hey now,” he shoots a smile to try to make her uncross her arms. The entire situation could use a bit of levity-- even if he doesn’t know why it’s _ so _ dour. “My taste has nothin’ to do with this.” Which is a bald-faced lie, but Jesse figures he doesn’t have to come up with anything better; Angela is the last person who’d think _ anyone _ has feelings for Hanzo. Besides, he _ doesn’t _ have feelings for Hanzo anymore. He _ totally _ worked those out and _ isn’t _ just telling himself that. The growing dread in the pit of his stomach is normal pre-breakfast stomach activity, _ obviously. _It’d just be silly to worry about looking at Hanzo and not being able to concentrate now.

Opening her mouth, she takes a loaded breath of air-- then shuts her mouth. There’s a long moment where she’s obviously thinking about something; a long moment where Jesse doesn’t justify himself. Hanzo is too much of a high risk bad-at-lying topic. Was. Will not be. There’s just no need to put it to the test yet. Jesse desperately holds onto the horrible idea that he made a smart choice.

“Be careful,” she finally says with a click of her tongue. “I know you don’t think it’s necessary, but I can’t just…” 

“I understand where you’re comin’ from. I really do.” He claps a heavy hand on her shoulder. “But I think it’s a touch’a bullshit and I ain’t gonna watch myself anymore than I’d watch myself with you.” Well-- he is going to watch himself to make sure he doesn’t drop his jaw, pop his eyes, and awooga like a vintage cartoon character-- that’s never remotely been a problem with Angela.

“Just make sure to think things through.” She returns with a gentle pat on his hand. “Don’t get swept up into anything.” 

Pulling back, he gives her a little salute, and heads towards the kitchen, “When _ don’t _I think things through real thoroughly?” 

* * *

  
  


The answer, at this rate, is everyday for the rest of his life.

Jesse McCree walks into the kitchen and sees Hanzo just _ sitting _ at the large island wearing his _ stupid _reading glasses and his brain leaks out of his ears in a sludge of lust and denial. All Hanzo is doing is talking about math that goes far over his head with Mei and Winston; Jesse laments over how it’s just not fair how he can do nothing and look fantastic. But he’s over that, he reminds himself, there’s nothing to worry about. He can talk to him without looking like a buffoon. 

“Mornin’” he manages, giving the trio a little wave as he opens the fridge and looks for breakfast foods that are easy to cook with one hand. Staring at the white back of the fridge isn’t a stalling tactic, he tells himself. He can think about cutting a mango instead of how the Hanzo of his dream made pancakes with Jesse’s arms around his waist, head on his shoulders, lovingly putting up with his affections. Let himself be less than pristine, wearing ragged pajama pants and an old stained t-shirt, hair down and still wild from sleep-- letting Jesse see him like that. The way Hanzo kept a glowing little smile on his lips, how Jesse doesn’t like chocolate chips in his pancakes but they were more than worth the glint in Hanzo’s eyes when he pulled them from their hiding spot, about how he popped up to kiss Jesse’s check every now and then as they worked together. 

Instead of admitting he _ might _ have made a mistake, Jesse swipes the egg carton out with a minimal startle when Mei taps him. _ Deliberation is hard _, comes the muffled thought through the sand he’s buried his head under. “Sorry sweetheart,” he bobs his head, hoping she catches onto the fact that he would tip his hat had he the hand to do so. 

“No it’s okay!” She reassures him, “Hanzo explained about your hand when we noticed you spaced out, and I just wanted to say that I haven’t had anything yet either, so if you would like I can make extra.”

Bless her heart, but this is the first task he’s come across after giving Torbjorn his arm, and he’s going to _ at least _kick the whole thing off without needing assistance. “Mighty kind of you, but I don’t wanna bother ya.” 

“Oh! It’s no problem at all!” And he really should have seen that coming, that’s on him. 

Grabbing a pan, he gestures at the carton he set on the counter, “Sorry, but I gotta insist on my eggs here.”

She nods, “I don’t mind making eggs if you want me to!” 

“Mei,” Hanzo calls over to her, “What are the implications here if…” He says something _ very _math involved and what little that’s left of Jesse’s poor tired brain blocks it out in self defense. Still, it frees him from the eternal struggle between unrelenting genuine kindness and the ingrained hospitality that says a direct refusal is rude-- the last thing he wants to do is be rude to Mei, even with confessing to Hanzo on the list.

Fortunately, frying up two eggs and popping in some toast is just enough stimuli as well as a brainless task that Jesse can let the wind whistle through his ears without falling back into thoughts he _ shouldn’t _ be thinking. The last death throes of his attraction putting up a valiant fight. Otherwise he just jacked off to his friend-- this time knowing and loving that fact-- for _ no _reason, and that would be stupid. If he keeps brushing the brim of his hat and having the video flash through his mind, well, he’s just speedrunning thinking those thoughts out of existence. 

Eating said eggs and toast isn’t enough to get him out of conversation, however. He does his best-- he really does-- leaning on the island across from Winston because the only open chair is next to Hanzo, chewing at a snail’s pace, and waiting for them to pull him into the conversation rather than just joining them, but it’s not enough for them to keep on their math adventure.

Winston is the first to pop his head up, suddenly remembering something, “Hana mentioned she was going to, uh, forcibly host the sleepover she mentioned during the mission tonight. Is, uh, that going to ruin any of your plans, McCree?” 

“No sir,”_ just internal crisis rumination, _ “free as a bird.” 

“Good! Good. She might say that it’s... mandatory, but if you end up needing it I can think of a cover for you.” Oh god, is it tempting. He doesn’t know what they’re actually going to do, but nothing is worth having to be by Hanzo for longer than he planned--no, he’ll be over it by then. Surely. 

“I’m excited!” Mei adds, “It seems like a good break. I do wish everybody could attend, but we can just host more if it goes well!” 

That reminds him. “Or,” Jesse adds, pointedly looking at Winston instead of Mei, “If it goes good and then there’s a horrible sleep over injury we can try it again and not do what caused the injury…?” 

“We are _ not _ ,” Winston sighs, getting his drift, “going to rent another mechanical bull for _ any _events.” By this point the discussion is more of a formality than an actual problem-- but better to try than to assume. If only he would apply the same protocol to romantic endeavors.

“Aw c’mon,” he chuckles, “Best birthday party I ever had right there.” The bar isn’t _ high _, but that’s neither here nor there. Plus, he got only reasonably drunk on his birthday for the first time in a long time. “Y’can’t tell me you didn’t have a fun ol’ gay ol’ time.” 

Winston fumbles for a second, gathering some logical counterpoint, but Hana walks in and hip checks Jesse before the gorilla can re-establish exactly why that’s a horrible idea. Bad ideas are a concept the cowboy is increasingly more familiar with as the minutes tick by. 

“Mornin’” he raises his yolk covered toast to her in place of a hat tip, “Or is it gonna be goodnight now?” 

She rolls her eyes and jostles his elbow, going past him to the designated cereal corner of the counter. “One of these days _ you’re _going to fall asleep at breakfast and I’ll-- are we out?” 

“Is uh, that box empty?” In place of a reply she shakes it. “Oh. Well then, I’ll uh, add it to the shopping list. Sorry.” 

“It’s all good!”

It would be easier to just turn using his feet instead of craning his head behind him with only one hand on the counter to balance himself, but Jesse has something to prove. “Mei still hasn’t eaten right? Y’all could make somethin’ together.” 

“Sounds good to me-- if it’s good with you Mei.” She slides in next to Hanzo, working on flattening and folding the box. “You’ve got egg on your face cowboy.” 

He wipes at his mouth, she points to the other side.

He wipes at his mouth again, she taps insistently on her own face. 

He makes sure to get the corners, she keeps tapping. 

“Ugh!” She barely leans over the island, and as expected her hand comes up incredibly short. “Hanzo,” she pulls back, tapping at his bicep, “Lean over and fix McCree for me, I can’t reach.” 

When he just kind of blinks at her, she gestures over dramatically to Jesse, “You’re gonna make me look at _ this _mess? My poor child eyes.”

Hanzo raises a brow instead of verbally acknowledging her theatrics. 

“For poor little Hana, who valiantly makes sure your burning--”

“Enough.” he jolts, stopping her cold and following through with her request. The press of his (surprisingly soft, all things considered) thumb to the space just under his lips short circuits the poor cowboy. Thankfully, he just freezes instead of giving into the desire to externally scream as loud as he is internally. 

His hot face washes cold when he realizes exactly what Hana orchestrated-- that she orchestrated _ anything _at all. Did Genji tell her? Is she Genji’s proxy while he’s off base? There’d be no one better to give him a play by play, but Genji wouldn’t be such a dick. The difference between fun bastard and outright dick is big and he’s never toed that line before-- during recall at least. 

Hanzo wipes his thumb off on his napkin, ignoring how Jesse has completely stopped moving. The two of them don’t even look in the vague direction of the other; Hanzo focusing on the tablet in front of him, McCree turning around to face the kitchen area. His fingers fumble with his plate in his belated excuse to put his dish in the sink. Distantly, he realizes that the soft brush of pressure was entirely opposite where she pointed. Jesse has a _ very _ strongly worded text to send.

“Oh!” Hana snaps her fingers, “That reminds me, what was the gay time you two were talking about?” Awful. What a devil. He wonders how much he has to pay MEKA and/or Yuna to make Hana’s callsign officially D.mon like she _ deserves _. More than he can afford, probably. 

Winston’s sighs. “We were talking about the mechanical bull incident and uh, how that is _ not _going to be repeated. At your event… or elsewhere.” 

“Can do!” He can hear her drumming her fingers against the island, “_ Buuut _, it was fun to ride.” 

In the corner of his eye, Jesse spots Mei fussing over something on the counter-- he can’t just stand here and have her _ ask questions_. So, he gives himself a good lungful of air and turns back around-- still not looking at Hanzo. 

“Y’know it,” the casual swing in his voice is forced, but not suspect. Score one. Plan working _ flawlessly_. “Nobody can resist bein’ proper cowfolk.” 

“I did think about replacing the party hats.” Mei chimes in, “but the cheap hats couldn’t compare!” Jesse places his hand on his chest and swoons, sending Mei into a little fit of giggles.

Fully capable of reaching across the island, Hana swipes the hat right off of his head. _ Oh, please, oh god don’t. _His poor little cowboy heart kicks up into overdrive.

“Do I look like a real cowboy now?” She shoots her two finger guns with a light laugh. 

Swallowing around the dread clogging his throat, he leans nice and easy (and _ not _to support himself if his legs go out) against the counter, holding his balance in his forearm. “‘Fraid not, y’gotta wear at least two bonafide cowboy items before you’re in cowboy territory.” 

“May I…?” Winston cuts in, extending his long arms over Hanzo to tap at the hat. She gives it to him without a fuss, shooting McCree a pout that is ruined by the uptick at the corners of her mouth. Crisis averted-- but now he’s conscious of his pulse. Her demonic ways know no bounds. 

Very gingerly, Winston places the hat on his head, careful not to pull on it in anyway. _What a sweetheart._ “How do I look?” Grinning, he also makes finger guns, but they barely clear the top of the island. 

“Like there’s a poster out there with your name on it, big guy.” Flashing _this _smile doesn't take all of his willpower-- things are really looking up. Getting out of his weak-knee preparation pose, he grabs it off Winston and offers it to Mei. 

“Oh!” The brim rests against her glasses, “I didn’t realize you had such a big head! Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to be--” 

“S’all right, Mama always talked about how I did her dirty day one and ain’t changed since.” Looking at the two plates in her hands, Jesse really wishes he took her up on her offer-- eggs are good and classic, but they’re nothing special. 

When Mei hands one over to Hana, the pilot startles. “You should’ve told me you started, I would’ve helped!” 

“It’s okay! I like cooking on my own-- it’s very relaxing. Not that cooking with friends isn’t!” Jesse can see where she physically stops herself from apologizing more, instead sinking into her previous seat. Progress is a beautiful thing to behold. 

“You’re the only one who hasn’t tried it on,” Mei offers the hat to Hanzo. He can’t even blame her! She’s _ just _ being nice, like a _ friend, _ because she’s kind and thoughtful, and doesn’t want to leave Hanzo out even though he pretends he doesn’t want to be involved in things. Jesse mourns the loss of the cold, cruel world he grew up in.

If nothing else she’ll get him a beautiful flower arrangement for his funeral. 

Hanzo hesitates for a moment (silently, Jesse begs for him to reject it) before taking it from Mei with a little bow of his head. His hair isn’t down this time, and as much as Jesse clings to that fact, it does little to take his mind somewhere safe. Were he a paler man he’d down himself on the spot-- as it is he ducks his head and prays the heat coming from his face isn’t _ that _ noticeable. Nobody is looking at _ him _though, so that’s a benefit in his-- oh nope, Hana is looking straight at him.

“_ I _think suits you!” she barely glances at Hanzo, “What does the cowboy expert say?” 

The cowboy expert internally says _ I’m going to collapse to the floor here and now, _ and only manages to stutter for a hot second. His eyes scan the room for anything seeing cafe tables, too much empty space, unfinished walls where the renovation effort hasn’t quite gotten around to yet, counter top-- nothing spilled, _not one thing_ to comment on and take his mind off the pervasive image of Hanzo desperately working himself through those panties. “I recko--” he stops himself short-- hoping none of them noticed the waver in his voice-- and rejoices that his prayers have been answered; his guardian angel is here. 

“Angie!” He calls out as she hustles into the kitchen, “You…” Oh no, he didn’t think about a good way to change the conversation; Curse his damn mouth. “... eatin’ a proper meal or jus’ grabbing some fruit?”

“Ah, just fruit.” She notices the hat is not on his head and _ certainly _notices whose head it's on. “Good morning Hanzo, I hear you are taking care of Jesse today?” 

“Yes, Doctor Ziegler,” he bows his head in deference, and the hat slides forwards just enough that Hanzo snaps to hold it still on his head. “That is the current plan, unless there are any objections?” 

The question _ shouldn’t _ sound passive aggressive and it _ doesn’t _ if you know the slight shifts in his tones but the two _ don’t talk;_ instead Angela bristles. 

“None I have not voiced.” She responds diplomatically, “This situation was sprung on me rather suddenly, you see. I would have preferred to arrange… perhaps a system to ensure _ Jesse _,” she emphasizes his name in a weird way to pull some sort of time-of-friendship-rank on Hanzo, “Can rely on a wider net of people to have his needs met.” 

Hanzo opens his mouth to respond but she abruptly looks over to Jesse, who not only wants to die but also _ really _wants to die. Anything to be out of this moment. “Have you eaten?” 

“Yes’m,” he nods, using the same tone he does to not spook horses, “Made myself some classic Doc approved eggs’n toast. Look at this picture of health.” 

She doesn’t respond to the slight dig at her always getting on him about his diet-- that’s fun banter between the two. Instead she turns back to Hanzo, “You made him cook for himself? Without one of his hands?” 

“McCree is a grown man, if he wants my assistance he will ask for it.” And it’s sweet! It’s a sweet thing for Hanzo to say because he means that he recognizes McCree isn’t useless without his hand and that he’ll only step in when he needs to, but his communication skills are stunted from being groomed to be a ruthless yakuza boss-- he just doesn’t know how to word shit in a non-hostile manner. Jesse thinks the man has few faults, but even the lovesick cowboy can't spin it into a positive trait.

She nods. There’s an unmistakable fire burning just behind her eyes. “Should you need more assistance, you know where to get my services.” Forgetting to grab any fruit, she turns to power walk out.

“Hey! You forgot your fruit!” Hana calls, jogging over to her with an apple in hand. Even minorly away from Hanzo her entire demeanor has changed, she laughs a clear tone they can hear from the distance, covering her face with her hand for a moment and smiling bright. She takes the fruit and the two caught up in some easy conversation, leaving McCree with the math gang. 

Or rather, _ theoretically _ leaving him with the math gang, because the other two got sucked into some sort of math dilemma at some point, talking in low voices every now and then as they work. Beautiful. Great. Time to just _ talk _to Hanzo while he’s wearing his hat. The same hat he just watched him press his face into as he came. But this is why he did it, he’s over it now. He can talk to Hanzo.

The ultimate test.

Open up his mouth and speak words without squeaking.

_ Hey, I love how you look in my hat, would like to see you wear it more. _

Use his vocal cords to send air through his throat and make cohesive sounds.

_ So, saw your work, big fan, love the whole hat thing. Have you ever maybe remotely considered wearing chaps?_

Any minute now. 

_ Do you want to go out to dinner? Maybe end up wearing my hat again? _

The two keep looking to and away from each other, neither of them having anything to talk about. McCree taps his fingers against the island. Hanzo cleans his glasses with his shirt. He hasn’t taken the hat off. He probably wants to return it but can’t because Jesse is so fucking awkward. There’s no way he wants to keep it on longer than he has to-- he didn’t put it back on when he-- 

Something else.

Think of something else. 

“You did not answer Hana’s question.” Hanzo is the first to speak up. Blessedly, he finally takes it off, fingers drifting against the notch in the brim before he offers it back to McCree. 

“You look-- looked just fine partner.” His voice stumbles a lot less than he thought it would. “But a cowboy hat always looks best on it’s cowboy.” It looks best over silky black locks, in elegant hands against a sinful chest-- hell, even just on Hanzo in normal everyday wear. He'll die before he says that though, it’s a miracle he hasn’t driven Hanzo away already. 

“Certainly.” 

“Hey uh,” he remembers to take the hat back, promptly putting it on his head. “If we’re both done do y’wanna meet me in the firin’ range? I gotta catch Little Miss Hana to talk about-- about some’a her sleepover plans if ya wanna go ahead without me.” 

Hanzo nods, standing and sliding his tablet over to the other two math wizards. “I will set up a course then, if you are amenable to it.”

“Oh yeah, perfect. Sounds great. I’ll see ya there.” Jesse takes small steps over toward Hana, not turning his back quite yet. 

“I will await you.” That kills him. Pronounce him dead, write the obituary. Cause of death: too horny to live, time of death: 9:36, _no_ chance of resuscitation.

Maybe, Jesse finally admits, that going back to the site was a big mistake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you might have noticed that i talked about math in the vaguest sense. this is mainly because I passed senior year (remedial) math by crying at the final exam. :) smile.


	6. Hey Bitchboy, You'd Be Golden If You Just Followed Anyone's Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao this was the easiest thing ive ever written. stored up all my speed from last chap into this one apparently.

As much as he hates it, Jesse feels like he's a father disappointed in his daughter. He knows, logically, that Hana is not only his coworker but also a competent soldier and outright hero; knows that he doesn't have a paternal bone in his body--hell, even a borderline aversion to influencing kids in any way.

But as he stands before Hana, arms crossed (or as crossed as they can get when one has little more than the bend of an elbow) looking down at her unquestionably young face, there's nothing else he can think of. For a moment he keeps his silence, trying to work around the feeling, gather his thoughts, come up with something neat and sensible so he didn't ask her into the nearest empty room just to vent. 

"Okay." Hana starts, "I totally get that I was like _ super _ obvious, but _ please _don't tell Hanzo you caught onto me."

The way she fiddles with her hair and looks up with those genuinely pleading eyes break any sense of anger Jesse has in his body. That just ain’t her, so down and out-- he feels like a right asshole, even though she kind of brought this onto herself. "Of course I ain't gonna tell him. Genji not fill you in on everythin’?”

“Genji?” She straightens her back, regaining some of her chutzpah, “Genji knows? I mean, like, of course he probably knows they’re brothers but--” Something clicks, “--what do _ you _think I know?” 

He shifts his arm to his hip, wondering just what exactly her game is. It should be obvious that he’s not going to tell her more information than she already has-- he’s at least competent enough to not be baited by such a trick. “How about you start by tellin’ me what info Genji gave ya.” 

“That's the thing!” she says, far bouncier than she has any right to be, “Genji hasn’t told me _ anything. _ Promise.” 

McCree smooths over his beard. He _ has _been a bit obvious lately-- but he didn’t think he was so clockable. She could be, as unlikely as it is, outright lying to him. The whole ordeal could be the ‘Jesse caught her’ protocol; Blackwatch drilled the importance of having excuses, back up excuses, detailed exit plans and backup exit paths into him, and it’s probably no different to Genji. 

“D’you mind if I send him a message from your comm?” He decides. 

  
  


“Yeah, I _ suppose _that’s fair.” she tosses the device over to him, and he scrambles to catch it when he realizes that his left hand isn’t available for the task. 

_ Hey jw how often u want updates _

Typing with his right hand only is harder than it has any right to be. Maybe he could get Winston to express ship Brigette back so she can help her pa-- something to look into later. Right now, he’s standing in an awkward silence with Hana, hoping that Genji replies in a timely manner. 

_ Ninja( 녹 ): ? i guess just when it’s released? its a fun game but im not really interested in all the alpha/beta/game development side _

“What game is he talkin’ about?” And is this all some complex code? He tucks Hana’s comm under his left arm and pulls out his own. 

_ Btw I’ve got my eye on you. So don’t pull anythin silly. _

“Oh, Forgotten Rot-- it’s a sequel to Forgotten Self which was released like, _ right _ before Naughty Dog had their split and a big majority of the dev team went to Better Dogs so neither of them could really _ do _ anything with it. But _ now _ they have like, a reunion deal and they’re just combining back into Pretty Neutral Dog. Genji was _really_ into Forgotten Self when it came out. I’ve got a friend working on it _ and _I’m D.va,” she reflexively holds up peace signs, “so I can get test versions as a little peek at the full game.” 

The story checks out, so he pulls up Hana’s comm again. 

_ d(^_^)b _

_ Also whats up w/ mccree he’s like freaking out _ _ ㅋㅋㅋ _

_ Ninja( 녹 ): lmao this is u isnt it mccree ur trying too hard _

_ Ok yeah but why does Hana know? _

_ Ninja( 녹 ):? idk she has eyes? shes around hanzo a lot so shes probs seen ur moonin constantly ive only told torb swear on my life _

_ 100% you didn't tell her? I’m not above pullin a hanzo if you’re fuckin with me _

_Ninja( 녹 ): wwwwwwwwwww__  
_ _Ninja( 녹 ): im sure ud love to pull on hanzo_

_ Ninja( 녹 ): but 100% did not _

“Alright, m’pologies.” He hands the comm back to her with a little tip of his head. “But the fact of the matter is how did you know about my whole torch carryin’?” 

“_ Your _ torch? This is about you-- Genji--” she cups her hands over her mouth and yells for a short minute. “Oh my _ god, _ just _ talk _ to Hanzo. Oh my _ god. _ You two--” She cuts herself off, devolving into disbelieving stutters from the back of her throat.

Something about her tone cuts right through him, “Y’know I don’t have a chance…” He idly scuffs the floor, voice painfully quiet. The good news is he doesn’t feel like he’s fake-fathering Hana anymore; he just feels awful admitting that he doesn’t have any legs to stand on. 

“How do you know!?” She throws her arms out in front of her, “Have you _ talked _about it at all? Even indirectly?” 

Indirectly, yes. He remembers it with startling clarity-- a little under six months ago, sprawled out on the roof together and nearing sloppily drunk. He doesn’t remember why they drank, why they went to the roof instead of their usual place, he doesn’t remember anything but the soft moonlight on Hanzo’s face, the stars shining in his eyes, the flush adorning his cheeks-- those take up every inch of the memory. 

“We got to talkin’ about romance, and when I asked him what kinda guy he was into he jus’ stared up at the sky. I joked about it bein’ me when he didn’t answer and he just looked away sayin’ _It’s not important._ _Nobody has standards that low.” _The silence that follows almost feels worse than the memory. 

“He-- oh my _ god _ you two are _ idiots _ .” She ducks so Jesse has to meet her eyes instead of the floor, “ _ That’s _ when you just went _ yeah _ and went back to stargazing?” 

“Got it in one-- you know me, nothin’ else I could do.” He figures he’s lucky to just keep him as a friend after that blunder, and thank god that he didn’t come on any stronger. 

Hana grabs his shoulders and outright _ shakes _ him. “Have you ever thought it _ might _be a miscommunication?” The fire behind her eyes burns him to a crisp. 

“Don’t know how _ anyone _ couldn’t pick up that message. He was _ pretty clear _ , ‘nd all I gotta do now is respect his space.” And he imagines that if Hanzo found out he _ watched _ him and of his previous self-control won’t matter. Besides, Hanzo has a lot of other friends now, even if he would never call them friends-- it isn’t just McCree dragging him around; first as a favor to Genji, then because he genuinely _ likes _ the man’s company. Almost everybody knows he’s not as prickly as he seems, just bad at being soft. 

“Ugh!” Hana steps back, shoving her palms over her eyes, “I can’t _ believe _ that--” she drops the sentence in favor of pacing back and forth, irritation radiating off of her tiny body. “There’s not a brain cell between you two! Holy shit! God, aren’t you like, adults who can _ talk _to each other?”

Jesse steps back to the door, leaving her to her… whatever this is. “I’ve gotta go to the firin’ range, but now that’cha know don’t worry about tryna set us up-- ain’t gonna work.” 

“Hold on Jesse,” she lets out a huge huff, only somewhat calming herself, “I can _ promise _that he’ll be for the idea.” 

“Genji said the same thing, so I’m gonna tell ya what I told him: I don’t want y’all to use your sway over Hanzo to pressure him into a relationship he don’t want.” Removing his hat, Jesse holds it against his chest, mustering up full body sincerity. “He’d give the moon t’ Genji and the oceans to you if y’asked nice enough. You come at him with the idea that’cha would love to see that office romance he’ll put himself into something he don’t wholly want.” 

“That’s not-- oh my god, crawl out of your self pity hole!” She huffs, crossing her arms in front of her, “Jesse McCree, you are _ officially _ brainless and I _ won’t _ tell Hanzo but I swear to god I’m not going to stop until you two-- ugh!-- _ talk _it out at like, the least.”

He shrugs, placing his hat back on his with a small sigh. That’s probably the best outcome he could’ve realistically had. “‘ ‘preciate you not tellin’ him. And if ya would keep it zip to other folks I’d prefer that.” 

“Lucio knows, and Brigette, but _ hopefully _ you two will pull your heads _ out _ of your asses before she gets back.” She squeezes past him, storming into the hall, “Go to the shooting range and _ give it a shot. _ Nothing bad is going to happen. Like, never will on this topic if you two just _ actually _use your words.” 

He doesn’t reply, there’s no chance in hell he’s risking what they have now. Hana just has to put up with it. 

* * *

As he enters the range he calls out, “Sorry, talkin’ with Hana took a hotter second than I thought.” 

Hanzo leans on a small interface podium in front of the range, clearly just waiting for him. When Jesse calls out to him, he perks up and, _ god _, a wave of guilt rushes down the cowboy’s spine. Instead of just being his friend Jesse has to go and catch feelings for him-- feelings he’d never reciprocate. 

“What did you two speak about…?” Anticipation hangs in the question, as if he’s nervous Hana gave up some secrets of his-- if only he knew. 

Forcing a dismissing wave, he shrugs, “Mainly that I can’t draw or write for shit without my left hand, so if she’s tryin’ a pictionary situation to not put me in the player pool.” 

“You are left hand dominant?” And _ fuck _, does he hate himself, but the questioning crease between the archer’s brows is one of the most adorable things he’s ever seen. “You shoot with your right.” 

“Cross eye dominant, babe--” the answer is so jauntily ingrained that he doesn’t have the wherewithal to stop the pet name from tumbling out. With the way Hanzo shifts his eyes off of him, Jesse knows he caught the slip up all too well. “Bit of’a bitch,” he plows through, grabbing the holster and Peacekeeper energy-replica-- no need to waste ammunition with practice-- angling his hat to cover his eyes a bit more, “but real handy when someone gets my shootin’ hand. No timin’ out on my day to day.”

“Ah.” Hanzo turns back to the console, politely dismissing the conversation after Jesse so thoroughly screwed it up.

Silence hangs heavy between them for a beat.

“Would you please demonstrate your reload gesture for the simulation.” Professionally, cool and calm and not going off on Jesse like he _ should _, Hanzo gestures into the range. “I assume the normal two handed one will not be adequate.” 

Shooting, that’s something he can do. Block out everything else going on and just focus on the targets-- that’s all he needs to right himself. “Yessir,” he chuckles, stepping onto the range. Hanzo nods at him, and Jesse follows the signal to spin his gun open, the drop of shells infinitely less satisfying without any actual shells. He has to tuck Peacekeeper back in her hostler to grab his autoloader, balancing her on her open cylinder; it’s clunky and slower than he’d like, but once he gets the autoloader in he spins her back up as spirited as ever. There’s no way he can’t smile while he twirls her around like that. 

“Impressive.” Hanzo speaks up after a beat, and he nearly startles. In the sheer bliss of playing with guns he almost forgot he was being watched. 

“Ah,” he goes to tug his hat further down, but stops himself. At this rate, if he tugs on it anymore it’ll be more suspicious than his blush. “That ain’t too much.” Like the poor lovestruck idiot he is, he just keeps talking, “No doubt you could do it jus’ as good as me.” 

Hanzo quirks a brow, “Displaying humility?”

“Nah. Just don’t take all too much skill.” His awful traitorous mind adds in, _ and you’re the closest thing I’ve seen to perfection. _ Too busy mentally berating himself, he misses Hanzo walking up to him until he’s _ right there _holding his hand out for the gun. 

“That is much more to your character. If I may?” 

“Oh,” Jesse’s brain reactivates after the image of Hanzo holding _ his _gun flashes through his mind. “Yeah, knock yourself out.” As casually as he can, he hands over the practice replica-- over aware of his hands and any unwelcome wavers that might hit them. 

Spinning the gun on his finger, Hanzo is completely unaware of the sheer panic running through the cowboy. It’s just unfair that the archer looks so good wearing his things, using his stuff, taking such good care of even a _ replica _ that doesn’t work outside of the practice range. As much of a likely candidate he is for gunplay, he’s never spared a _ second _to think about it until this exact moment. What he wouldn’t give for Hanzo to r-- 

To reload the revolver one handed. As they agreed. Nothing more. 

“Ah,” Hanzo draws him out of his spiral, “Might I borrow your holster?” Of course he can. He can have the stars in the sky and the air in his lungs-- borrowing something he doesn’t use outside of practice and rare undercover cases is nothing. He slips it off his belt, offering it wordlessly; he doesn’t have any words that _ won’t _embarrass him come out. Chugging in a valiant effort, his mind remembers to hand over the autoloaders as well. 

The movement isn’t nearly as smooth as it is when Jesse does it, but he would argue that it looks ten times better just based on presentation. Either he’s flashier than he thinks he is, or Hanzo thinks he does a lot more than he actually does, the archer over dedicating time to the flick of the cylinder; nimble fingers pressing against it in a sinful way Jesse _ absolutely _ doesn’t do. Except, maybe, on the rare occasion he’s showing off-- he’s never watched himself.

Unrelenting horny thoughts aside, Hanzo does, as he expected, perfectly well. “Told ya.” He shoots a smile over, actively pushing down any other unwanted thoughts. “Angie could pull it off an’ she outright hates usin’ her gun.” 

“That is not an accurate indicator,” he hands the replica back, “Doctor Ziegler has a mind for great detail and steady hands.” Jesse moves to put Peacekeeper back in her holster, only to realize he doesn’t have that yet. 

He gestures to the holster with the replica, “Y’should say things like that when she’s in the room.” At least, something so unmistakably a compliment that it can’t be misconstrued. 

“I would rather she lead the conversation,” he swaps with Jesse, “I do not wish to be bothersome.” 

“Don’t think it’s much bothersome to mention she’s got good hands.” 

“Steady hands. There is a remarkable difference.” As a demonstration he holds his own hand up-- Jesse actively reminds himself to keep his mind on the conversation-- and wiggles his fingers a bit. “For all their strength and speed, I would not call my hands steady, nor would I consider them good. They are not bad, however I find my fingers far too disproportionate and slender to be good.” 

Managing to not comment on how he thinks his hands are perfect and suggest some places to put them, Jesse still stuffs his boot in his mouth spur first, “What’a ‘bout mine?” 

Hanzo thinks for a long moment, then gestures for McCree to lift his hand. When Hanzo takes it and ever so lightly drags his own fingers over it, flipping it over and following the lines in his palm as if he knows how to read them, Jesse ascends to another realm. For all the lewd thoughts that can (and has had previously) occupy his mind, all he can think of is Hanzo intertwining their fingers together. His hand is cool where Jesse’s is warm, soft to the general roughness, but with unmistakable callouses. The fingers he finds too slender would slot perfectly into Jesse’s stupid sausage fingers, it’s a hand he could bring to his lips and just leave a tender little kiss to remind him how much he loves him. 

“These-- this, I suppose, is a good hand. You have…” Hanzo trails, spreading his fingertips across the palm, “a wide grip. It would--” he clears his throat, “It is advantageous in most scenarios.” 

Jesse barely manages to nod. 

“Your fingers…” He loses himself in Jesse’s hand for a second, moving to idly move his fingers around, “a- are thick, but you are in no way clumsy or fumbling-- with your hands at least.” Their eyes meet for the first time since Hanzo grabbed him; Jesse is left staring at the top of his head as he swiftly ducks his gaze back down to the hand. No doubt he saw the unbridled longing swimming in his eyes. Way to make him uncomfortable, he chastises himself, turning his head to completely look off to the side and give him the space he needs. Deserves. Undoubtedly wants. “You do… a variety of incredible things with your hands, and it is no surprise considering how p-- considering everything.”

His hand is dropped while Hanzo steps back. There’s an awkward beat where all Jesse wants to do is grab his hand again, maybe pull him close, maybe show him exactly _ what _he can do with his fingers-- but he doesn’t. All he manages to do is to stop himself from unquestionably embarrassing himself. Hanzo would be disgusted if he trampled his very clear boundary like that.

“Ziegler,” Jesse reminds himself, “Jus’ head on up to her and tell her she’s a skilled doc full stop sometime.”

Hanzo grabs his bow in place of a reply-- not because he’s blowing Jesse off; he has nothing else to say so the conversation is obviously over. Another habit Jesse should get him to work on before sittin’ him and Angie down to come to a less tense place. 

“I will not go easy on account of your arm,” Hanzo flashes him a smile, “And when do you do manage to best me two-handed, it is by a bare margin-- I suggest you prepare yourself.” 

Son of a bitch started the countdown when he was checked out-- he can work with this familiar territory. Focus on the targets, have fun with Hanzo without creeping him out. 

Jesse isn’t sure if he’s getting better or not, but he knows he’s moving in _ some _direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hanzo: jerks it using mccrees stuff  
mccree: obviously i dont meet his standards. no other option.
> 
> also also i am like. one lesson in on duolingo for korean so i grabbed green from google and hoped for the best
> 
> triple also: official co - author for the chapter


	7. Hey Sadsack, You Don't Have to Throw a Pity Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big soz on how long this took. yknow, shits mad fucked and all. but! its on the upswing so hopefully a long wait like this wont happen again. 
> 
> also, this one is a bit short bc I split one chapter into two so I could get anythin out

Spending the day with Hanzo is surprisingly,  _ genuinely surprisingly,  _ easy for Jesse-- even with how scatterbrained he’s been. Opportunities to embarrass himself just never arise; the two  _ don’t  _ talk-- not in an awkward or stilted sense, but because silence speaks as fluently as actual conversation.

The notion gives him pause-- he can remember when he would run his mouth about topics he doesn't have a clue on, when he’d say almost anything that came into his mind, spewed it all out and hoped Hanzo grabbed any thread-- start an  _ actual  _ conversation. Most startlingly, he has no idea when that stopped. 

When everything turned into the occasional conversation, when they both had something to say, when callouts started to be forgotten during simulation because they both already  _ knew,  _ when Hanzo would chime in with a simple observation and Jesse didn’t feel the need to take it beyond acknowledging the moment. Looking at it all, he feels as though he’s settling his heels at the canyon’s edge and staring straight down. Perhaps, he acknowledges, he’s in a lot deeper than he first thought. 

The silence is a blessing as his internal storm keeps thundering, and he takes the moment between simulation scenarios to settle on the floor and wave his hat for a sad little breeze. 

Hanzo gives a light hum, agreeing with the break Jesse didn’t announce, and grabs his foot behind him to start stretching. The perfect queue for him to look away, leaving him again with the dizzyingly realization at exactly how much he’s repressed in regards to romancing Hanzo. At how far the two have come as friends-- best friends, the concept strikes him. Best friends as far as Jesse is aware-- which, to be fair, is not much considering his distinct lack of lasting friends throughout his life. 

He bets Hanzo has had even less than him though, and he’s not out here wondering if Jesse would wear a ring on his finger or a chain. Finger, the answer floats, unprompted, from the far corners of his mind, and it’s a thought he’s had-- feels like a thought he’s had-- but the implications just now hit. Is that just the sort of man Jesse is? Apparently yes, he answers himself, he is the man to fall for a man who is  _ just  _ being a good friend. To fall without realizing just how deep it all runs. 

Yes, he continues internally, he  _ would  _ like to fuck Hanzo six ways from Sunday, and he  _ knows  _ that he knew that-- and  _ used to  _ be able to be polite and ignore it, and he knows that he knew he wouldn’t have minded to call Hanzo his. But now? Now he knows that he wouldn’t mind taking a bullet for the other--despite the nearly four decades worth of fighting tooth and nail otherwise-- and he  _ doesn’t  _ know how to push that down any longer. 

Or,  _ more importantly, _ he doesn’t know how long Hanzo is going to tolerate his piss poor attempts at not mooning. Jesse can’t see a future where he doesn’t drive Hanzo off, and the concept makes him shiver despite the heat of a thorough work out cursing through his body.

“Gonna take a hot nap,” Jesse breaks his line of thought, so he can't finish tying the thread into a noose.

Hanzo pats at his pockets-- or where they would be if he wasn’t properly dressed for a workout, wholly unlike Jesse’s subconscious denim requirement. After all, what’s the point of wearing fancy clothes if he’s never actually going to perform in them? “Athena; time?” 

“One fifty-seven,” She answers neatly, and Hanzo turns to him with a look that says  _ do really you have the time for that?  _ Yeah, maybe he shouldn’t cut it close with Hana ready to pop her shindig at some unspecified vaguely evening time-- especially considering Jesse isn’t as much of a napper as he is a full on sleeper. The thought of having to find some other distracting activity has made his mind up for him-- let alone finding one that also lets him forget about only having one hand. God forbid he spend time with Hanzo where he can’t distract himself. He  _ probably  _ can’t make himself more of a fool than he has, but Hanzo  _ has  _ to be nearing the end of his rope by now.

“I’ll camp out on the couch, then the little miss can reach me real easy.” Jesse groans, standing from the floor and stretching out. He should-- he figures, popping the top couple of buttons of his shirt to get better airflow-- wear the proper workout clothes he was so kindly gifted, but changing? No siree, not with one hand. The delayed thought of how much harder buttoning them back up with one hand hits him, but the damage is already done. 

Besides, _if_ Hanzo had to button his shirt back up how much trouble could that really get him into? There’s no dangerous territory up by his neck-- hell, it might as well be like his ma fixing his little bow for him as a kid. Like she did for his pa, smoothing down his tie, looking down at him all soft and sweet and setting back with a peck that always got little Jesse squealing about how gross it was. Hanzo would be close enough, he could set his remaining hand at the small of his back, and Hanzo would roll his eyes-- but smile up to him and set his hands behind Jesse’s neck after fixing his collar. Reach up and give the gentlest press of his lips, a tender touch that can’t compare to the tender moment. Jesse could--   
  
Stop thinking about that. _Immediately._ He’s got t-shirts he can replace his button down with, problem solved. Tentatively, Jesse glances to Hanzo out of the very corner of his eye, and either Hanzo is in a similar middle distance thought, or he just asked Jesse a question and is waiting for an answer. Either way, he’s staring in Jesse’s direction.

“Hm?” Jesse settles for a noncommittal grunt, and given the way he jumps-- the muted barely there twitch that most wouldn’t catch, and that Jesse half-heartedly wishes he wasn’t able to catch-- the answer is absolutely lost in thought. 

Clearing his throat to settle himself back into his composed and dignified airs, Hanzo stretches a leg in front of him and bends himself in h-- Jesse forces his eyes away, making the rare smart decision. “I do not think that anyone, least of all Hana, would appreciate you resting on the couch-- given how…” he clicks his tongue, “much sweat you have managed to produce.” 

He does have a point there. By no means is Jesse soaking through his shirt, but he can feel a cool patch under his shoulders. Probably won’t smell the prettiest after it all dries. “I’ll hit the shower first then. Get myself all freshened up an’ tuck in on the couch.” 

He can hear Hanzo righten himself, so Jesse assumes it’s safe as it’s ever going to get and looks back to him, offering a light smile. “Y’can go about your day without lil’ ol’ me slowin’ you down.” 

“It is no trouble either way,” he rolls his eyes and steps past Jesse, who falls in step without a thought. Distantly he wonders when that became a habit-- all the better to ignore and pretend isn’t a thing. “Are you  _ able  _ to shower?” He gestures to Jesse’s half of an arm. 

Jesse clicks his tongue, Angela isn’t a stranger to telling him not to do things, and she didn’t say  _ not  _ to get it wet, and the wrapping looks mighty waterproof. “Figure I can, worse comes to worse Angie’ll just have t’ rewrap the sucker.” 

Hanzo nods, “Are you able to…” he lightly falters in his steps, “deal with your soap one handed?” 

Jesse’s eyebrows quirk up at how evasive Hanzo’s gaze suddenly is, but the image of Hanzo joining him in the shower derails all other trains of thought. No wonder he’s being flighty, he doesn’t want to give Jesse the wrong idea-- but here he is, desperately avoiding the encroaching thoughts of Hanzo washing his hair. Clearing his throat, Jesse focuses on keeping his voice measured, “Pop ‘em open.” 

After the half thought hangs in the air, he manages to gather enough braincells, “They’re sticky sons’a bitches, so if ya pop in and crack them bad boys I’ll be able to soap up no problem.” 

Hanzo opens his mouth like he’s going to clarify something, and swiftly shuts it again, opting to just walk. The two continue to Jesse’s room-- though this time the silence hangs awkwardly between them. God, he really should’ve thought further ahead before going forward and running through workouts, no matter how gun focused they are. There’s really nobody to blame but himself, and he really doesn’t want to blame himself-- he’s having enough of a hard time as it is, doesn’t he  _ deserve _ a break? 

At least he can stew in his self pity while Hanzo unlocks his room for him.

While Hanzo heads into the bathroom, Jesse takes the time to undo the rest of his buttons-- maybe he can scare Hanzo off. Break the tension in the air by having nobody around to  _ have  _ tension with. Unfortunately, he quickly comes to the realization that belts, especially those with large buckles, are frankly fucked up when trying to deal with it one handed. He can do it though. Has to do it. Eventually will do it. After all, he has one hand-- a whole ass functional hand, it  _ shouldn’t  _ be this hard. 

In the midst of some fancy fingerwork, he hears Hanzo clear his throat, “Are you alright?” 

“Uh,” Jesse keeps his gaze fixed firmly down, “...peachy.” For all his verbose and reassuring words, the muted thuds of fumbling fingers speaks so much louder. He gets the sneaking suspicion that his guardian angel is named Lucifer-- at least, he feels mighty damned lately. 

“Here,” Hanzo breaks the silence with a bold step towards Jesse. The caution in the motion isn’t hidden to Jesse however-- message received loud and clear, don’t make this weird. Don’t be a lovesick freak for a man with standards. 

The white wall of his room is suddenly very interesting, no reason to look down and watch Hanzo reach for his belt. Stopping himself from mentally translating the muted fumbling to a much less stressful situation is a fruitless endeavor. The thought simply sticks to the back of his head, and the impulse to just slap it out of his head is barely overridden by the embarrassment of explaining it. It doesn’t help that Hanzo himself isn’t familiar with a classic rodeo sized buckle, so he has to spend more time than he ever wanted to messing with Jesse’s belt.

“Perceived style does not make up for how cumbersome this is…” Hanzo idly chatters, voice low as he focuses. Of course,  _ he’s  _ just helping a friend-- nothing more. Never anything more. Small talk isn’t a problem when you’re not panicking over a man’s hands.

“Hey now,” his voice is fortunately contained, no squeaks or wavers, “it does it’s job real nicely.” If Jesse had any hope of wooing Hanzo it  _ could  _ even be wingman adjacent, a good enough opening as any for a cheesy line. His standards aren’t low enough for Jesse though, and the cowboy puts what puttering mental power he has into repeating the sentiment to himself. No need to ruin the best he’s gonna get. 

“If the job is…” Hanzo mutters, cutting himself off and taking a large step back as he finally undoes the belt. “I will see you later,” he adds, before Jesse can say anything damning, scurrying out of the uncomfortable tension Jesse radiates. 

_ At least the situation is defused, _ Jesse sighs as the door closes. Certainly, it could have gone better-- but Hanzo hasn’t forsaken him yet. Though, now that he thinks about it, Hanzo probably wouldn’t rebuke him while he’s helping with his arm-- he wouldn’t put a task from Genji in jeopardy. Hell, Jesse figures that he could do something wholly unforgivable, something as horrid as pulling up Hanzo’s own videos and asking him to help jack off because he doesn’t have his main hand  _ and Hanzo would do it _ . He’d be disgusted, but he’d do it, and when Jesse gets his arm back, Hanzo would kill him-- as is his god given right. 

Jesse steps into the spray of the shower with an audible groan, letting the touch too hot water sting his face. Once he has his arm back, it’s certainly over for their friendship-- probably their professional comradery as well. Ah hell, bounty hunting wasn’t  _ that  _ bad; he could go back to it with little trouble-- though a life on the run is not appealing in any sense. Still, it’s leagues better than forcing Hanzo to grit out a smile and pretend that Jesse isn’t mooning over him, that everything is normal. 

Torbjorn better have that arm done fucking  _ soon. _ The less time he has to embarrass himself, the less time Hanzo forces himself to be in Jesse’s presence, the less lovestruck moments he has to apologize for the better. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can get to trying to repair everything he’s fucked up. 

He can only hope to wake up to his arm being reattached.


	8. Hey Numbnuts, Talking Works When You Say Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great news!

“McCree,” Jesse is stirred awake by a light press to his arm, a motion faint enough to be able to ignore it and continue just shutting out the world.

“Jesse,” the hand comes again, a hair more persistent-- though now, before it leaves him, he can feel his hair being pushed out of his face.

He lets out a soft groan in response, as he goes to wipe the sleep off his face, he’s hit with the poor unfortunate fact that he hasn’t grown a second arm during his nap. Without opening his eyes, he mumbles out, “One t’ ten how important is it f’r me to wake up?” 

“Ten,” the voice, which Jesse, a touch more mentally charged, can clearly tell is Hanzo (and, to his credit, he manages not to huff at the realization). “You have slept to the point where Hana is proposing various party games for us.” 

Jesse sits up, opening his eyes and trying to keep his head empty. The great news is that he either did not dream of Hanzo, or he doesn’t remember his dream; both are equally as good at the moment. 

To speak of the devil, Hana sweeps in through the doorway, “Yeah! I’ve got a lot planned! So chop-chop cowboy, you’re holding up the party.” She braces herself at the arm of the couch, “Get up and help me push-- we need to get it in the circle.” 

“Yes’m,” Jesse chuckles, standing and realizing that Hanzo hasn’t taken a step back when he bumps into him. 

The apologies he was going to offer stick in his throat at how fast Hanzo moves back. 

“What’s the--” 

“Thank you Baptiste,” He hears Baptiste holler down the hall. 

“Thank you Baptiste!” The filtered voice of one resident meddling, no-good son of a bitch responds. Which, all things considered, Jesse does a decent job at keeping his shock off his face. 

This entire situation is  _ bad enough _ with Hana knowing, and she’s put a stop to her meddling-- or Jesse assumes so after their talk, but Genji returning? Awful. Irredeemable. With the way he catches the downward flick of Hanzo’s mouth he’s also unhappy about the situation, though Jesse is certain Genji hasn’t actually  _ told  _ him. He wants to learn why Hanzo had his micro-expression as much as he wants to completely skate around the topic. 

“Genji!” Mei greets him excitedly at the threshold, “I thought you were on a mission-- not that I’m not happy that you’re here!” 

Jesse bites his tongue. 

Genji waves a dismissive hand, “Turns out I am not suited for it! Baptiste agreed to take over for me.” Patting her shoulder, he waltzes over to brazenly stand in front of McCree. 

“How are things going here…?” His words are loaded even without knowing the situation, and Jesse can feel Mei’s questioning gaze. If Mei asks about that now, in front of Hanzo, Jesse might as well turn in his resignation to Winston. There’s no way he could tactfully avoid a direct question, let alone from the genuine sweetheart that Mei is. 

Instead of dignifying Genji with a response right away, he hustles to the other arm of the couch and lifts. Nobody can blame him for helping out with the party, right? He’s just being a good friend, with no ulterior motives! 

“Jus’ peachy,” Jesse finally answers with a humph as he drops the couch into place, “Without your yappin’ I got a fresh nap in.” 

Genji shares a look Jesse can’t decipher with Hanzo, and as much as Hanzo’s reaction to the look would clear things up, he’s not going to risk it. Party time, distraction time, stop mooning time-- all things that are immensely helped by not making doe eyes at the archer. 

“How many seats’re we needin’?” Jesse changes the topic before it can all go to shit. 

Hana rolls her eyes as his blatant avoidance, “Seven; Mei,” she starts ticking off fingers, “me, Ana, Genji, Hanzo, you, and probably Mercy-- unless she’s still got arm stuff,” she wiggles her fingers vaguely, “to do. Winston  _ said _ he might drop in, but I think he’ll come down to grab some treats and go back up to the lab.

“No seat for the big g--”

“Oh!” she snaps, “If Baptiste was back long enough to replace Genji, then Tracer should be here as well! So eight.” 

“One additional,” Hanzo clarifies, “We... left the couch for last. To allow you time to sleep.”  _ Whoops _ , maybe Jesse should be a bit more in touch with his surroundings, but he lets himself have a little slip-- overall, it’s better to be less focused on  _ things  _ around him. 

“ _ I’m  _ gonna take care of that,” Hana walks past him with a light hip check,  _ “You  _ have to make those cute drinks, and  _ you, _ ” she points over at Jesse, “have to make that one cheese dip. Non-negotiable.” 

Jesse nods, but at the prospect of being alone with Hanzo, freezes and looks to Genji (however inadvisable  _ that  _ is), “Could’ja come along? It’ll be faster if I’ve don’t gotta,” he lifts his half-arm, “chop all ‘em veggies myself.” 

The glance Genji gives to Hana unfortunately confirms that the two are now working together, and the slight nod she gives back confirms that this sleepover is going to be hell. After all, the whole thing is last minute, what’s the issue with repurposing it into a fruitless matchmaking attempt? It’s not like either of them have to deal with the fallout. 

“You have my blade,” Genji’s smile undercuts the mock-serious tone he’s going for. Hanzo, Jesse can’t help but notice, stiffens when Genji says he’ll accompany them. He would’ve assumed the archer would be happy to have a social buffer between him and Jesse’s infernal pining-- well, if Hanzo thinks Genji guesses that Jesse is hopelessly head over heels, it wouldn’t be leap to think he’d tease Jesse rather than tactfully dance around it like Hanzo has been. 

The large island of the kitchen is already covered in various snacks, and it's frankly a touch overboard with consideration to how many guests there actually are-- though it is known that superstar D.va doesn’t do understated. Or she likes to come off that way, at least. 

Genji corners Hanzo-- but truly, what damage can he do at this point? Outright tell him? While he is a complex multifaceted person, he wouldn’t go that far; he promised he wouldn’t. Jesse opts to lean against the island and space the fuck out. He can blame that on still waking up, right? Hanzo himself is busy grabbing  _ his _ supplies so it’s not as if he can scooch behind them, behind  _ him _ , reach over him and grab his own ingredients. The picture that would be captivates Jesse before he can stop himself. Coming up behind Hanzo, placing a hand on his hip so he’s not startled (though, realistically, Hanzo would have full awareness of his surroundings, but the sentiment is still sweet enough for Jesse to ignore the lack of prospective necessary-ness.) reaching over him, the both of them just mingling in each other’s space-- maybe even leaving a cheesy peck on his cheek as he pulls back to cook. To cook for Hanzo solely, and for Hanzo to cook for him, to provide for each other. For the both of them to care about the little everyday worries for each other. 

“Jesse,” Hanzo addressing him pulls him out, “are you alright?” The worry in his voice is heartbreaking, because Hanzo  _ cares--  _ just not in the same manner Jesse does for him. And, Jesse thinks plastering a smile to hide his spiral, never will. If he continues to so thoroughly fuck up just being Hanzo’s friend-- just friend-- because of the bone deep need to card his hand through his hair, Hanzo won’t even care for him as a friend. 

_ Time to get a handle on this shit _ . 

“Yeah?” Jesse opts to dig in the fridge rather than face Hanzo (where who knows what desperation his eyes will convey) or Genji (where who knows what meddling scheme he’ll face.) 

“Are you certain?” Hanzo has turned his physical focus into slowly stirring the large pot he’s filled with... whatever you make hot chocolate with-- chocolate, presumably. Jesse wasn’t paying attention to what he put in; he’s personally used to the good ol’ powder and water dream team. “The ordeal with your arm has been… unduly hard on you.” 

“Oh?” Jesse clears his throat, sending a panicked look to Genji, who dutifully dices onions and dutifully leaves him to the sharks. “Well-- y’know.” He doesn’t glance at Hanzo as he places his own cast iron pan on the far end of the range. There still isn’t enough space between them.

Hanzo clicks his tongue while he gets his thoughts in order, and Jesse knows without looking that there’s a faint furrow between his brows-- that adorable scrunch he gets whenever he’s focused on figuring out something. The little tell Jesse has been wanting to smooth out with this thumb since he figured out what it was. 

“Not personally-- however,” Hanzo tsks and grabs the milk from Jesse’s side-- hand narrowly avoiding his chest. Jesse can’t read the gesture as anything other than,  _ I can control myself and act normally. See? It isn’t hard.  _ “You have been... remarkably in your own head since it has presented as a problem. Which is understandable.” 

The silence is potent as Genji’s chopping stops and he either freezes still or ninjas his way out because Jesse can’t hear anything coming from the counter behind him.

“However,” Hanzo picks back up, “I know it is bothersome to be in my constant company.” Jesse doesn’t know how to tell him that’s the farthest thing from true without also saying that he wants to not only have Hanzo emotionally hold him but also physically hold him, so he says nothing. Plus, Jesse figures, he’s pulling a  _ it’s not you it’s me  _ on him even though they both know it  _ really  _ is Jesse. “However, it.” 

Hanzo purses his lips, “It would be better for your health to engage with the others-- do not be afraid to send me away.” 

_ So don’t take seven hour naps but still get out of my hair. _

“Aye-aye.” Jesse is too busy to mock salute, but he figures his forced chirp conveys it anyways. They don’t have to say what they’re really talking about, Jesse figures, stewing in the stiff silence, they both know well enough what’s going on. 

“Brother,” Genji groans, his youngest child instincts pushing him to break the silence. “There’s _nothing else_ you want to say....?” Oh come on, Jesse is half-tempted to roll his eyes, Hanzo is wording things delicately so he doesn’t offend. Why can’t he get that? The sentiment is sweet and far more than Jesse feels like he deserves after his abysmally lecherous thoughts.

Hanzo turns to grab mugs instead of facing his brother, and Jesse takes the moment to take in his strong profile instinctively. His ears are burning and even that little shake of his generally expressionless face is breath catching. Jesse can’t recall off the top of his head how far Hanzo’s blush can extend-- he certainly hasn’t seen Hanzo nude  _ and  _ bashful. Perhaps in his earlier videos, when he’s new to the situation he might-- 

He wouldn’t have seen the ears in a video  _ anyways _ , Jesse tries to bring himself into safer territory, but he just puts the lion in a cage to climb in with it. Hanzo doesn’t wear his hair up in the videos. Maybe-- to say Jesse allows himself to think rather than be dragged by his basic functions may be a bit of a stretch-- he wears his hair down not only for the jaw dropping beauty of it but also because he doesn’t want people know  _ if  _ any part of him is going to show his blush it’s his ears. At least, that’s his working theory. Much to consider. 

Genji snaps his metal hand in front of him with a little  _ dink _ , pulling him out of his thoughts. “ _ Please  _ tell me you caught our conversation.” 

Hanzo has left the kitchen. Heartbreak meltdown successfully avoided--  _ congratulations _ . 

“Yeah, don’ worry about it.” He waves Genji off. 

Genji, in true pestering fashion, does not buzz off. Instead he pushes into Jesse’s space to take the pan off the heat. To be fair, he has been needlessly stirring for a while now. It’s good to occupy the hands-- hand;  _ maybe  _ only having one to keep track of is the one small blessing. 

“You did not.” The statement is the flattest thing he’s ever heard, “I will give you  _ my  _ arm if you can repeat what my br--no, if you can even tell me the gist of what he said.” 

“He tactfully avoided talking about how I’m acting weird because I want--” Jesse clears his throat, he doesn’t have to know what they actually talked about; he has a good enough guess. “because we both know how he feels about that and he doesn’t wanna upset me outright.” 

“It is close, but not close enough that you’re getting this arm.” Genji sighs, plating the dip for Jesse. “He  _ said  _ to me, circumventing just _ saying things outright  _ with you here _ \-- _ because he is an idiot-- that he thinks you need space and that he fucked up this afternoon.” 

“It’s no--” 

“I do  _ not _ ,” Genji stresses, “want the little details of you circling each other-- that is my brother-- and you do  _ assume  _ the worst of the situation like he does. I am going to bring the dip out, you are going to stay here, and I will ask him to assist you in carrying in the charcuterie trays, and he will come into this kitchen-- where you will  _ stay-- _ and you two will  _ talk  _ because I am going to short circuit if this goes on any longer.” 

The look Genji gives him is enough to pin him in his spot, however inadvisable that may be. 

“Oh hey,” He tries-- god bless him he tries-- to act casual as Hanzo walks in, vaguely avoiding looking directly at Jesse. At least they’re on the same page even if it’s for completely opposite reasons. “Overheard y’nd Genj, y’know how it is.” 

Hanzo looks like he’s overcoming a freezing curse when he bobs his head. 

“‘Nd he was sayin’-- and I was, I got t’ feelin’ we should.” The words feel like they’re choking him and he hopes to god they actually finish the damn job this time. “Talk.” 

“About...?” Hanzo asks as if there’s anything else to talk about. 

Jesse feels the knobs of the range dig into him as he ill-advisedly leans against it. He’s gotta look casual though. As if they’re in a universe where Jesse can trust himself to not decide to crank hog to his friend for an unprecedented third night in a row; a universe where he couldn’t toss a coin to decide if he does and have better odds. Better for reality, at least, and not the impossible dream his dick won’t give up. 

He clears his throat, “... this afternoon. I know I--” 

“I,” Hanzo is swift to interrupt him, “acknowledge that--” 

“The whole situation…” The two of them catch each other’s eyes and tension shuts the both of them up. 

“Gotta apologize. I shoulda thought when I was dressin’ about... y’know. The future.” 

Hanzo hums, “I do know it was not an ideal situation for you.”  _ Hey--  _ maybe there’s a half compliment, a you  _ could _ have been an ass and made the worst move of your life but you managed to barely contain yourself. Vaguely thankful for that.

“I acknowledge that perhaps I should have…” 

A pause hangs in the air. Hanzo is looking off to the right, and Jesse knows he wants to say more, that he’s just collecting his thoughts, and that as much as he wants to interrupt him and get this over with he’s not done. 

“I should have let you solve that struggle on your own.” He finishes, though he grimaces through the words. 

Jesse rubs at the back of his neck. There’s a lot he wants to say. There’s a lot that’ll make Hanzo hate him. The venn diagram is a circle to Jesse. “...I really value our friendship. Y’know.” 

Something storms behind Hanzo’s eyes-- was that too far now, after what he’s done?  _ How could you say such a thing, _ he imagines the reply,  _ when you are the one who crossed the boundary?  _

“As do I.” 

Jesse nods.    
  
Hanzo nods.    
  
There’s more that needs to be said, but neither of them will say it. Perhaps spurred by the prayer circle Genji is practically running in the next room, neither of them can leave until it’s said. 

“I will,” Hanzo starts, words slow, thought over while they leave his mouth, “not allow this to sway the standing of our friendship, if you’ll allow it as well.” 

He laments that he’s  _ been  _ trying to get back to normal and get himself under control. Still, he nods. Time to double his efforts. “Yup. Y’got my word on that.” 

Despite the agreement, the air has not cleared back to it’s easy pace Jesse loved this morning. Words can only do so much, but at least he knows Hanzo isn’t going to drop him. Unless he fucks up again.

God, he thinks, haven’t felt this much pressure  _ ever.  _

Hanzo moves to reach past him, to the cupboards, “Brandy,” he explains. “It goes well with the hot chocolate, if you wish to indulge.” 

It’s not a  _ smart  _ move, given how great his control is sober, but for god’s sake he needs to get past it. Maybe, he figures, drinking will be that push to loosen me up again.

The smile he huffs is genuine, “Look at’cha. Culinary genius with a  _ great  _ idea.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They talk! How beautiful!


End file.
